Time
by EternalOphelia
Summary: Chapter 18 DrHr Takes places after the 6th book. Draco is w. the Death Eaters, but his convictions are swaying. How does Hermione tie into this? Only time will tell. Time heals all. But which time? RR
1. Prologue

I know I'm in the middle of one story right now (my sequel), but I can't help myself when an idea pops into my head. I thought it over for a while, and I decided to do both stories at once. I've done that before in the other genre I write in, so it's nothing new. I manage to keep the stories separate and not clash with one another (or so I hope :P). Anyway, I really loved this idea and I couldn't wait until I finished the other story to start it. So here it goes…

* * *

Chapter 1: Prologue

_I hate mudbloods._

_I hate mudbloods._

_I hate mudbloods._

_I hate mudbloods._

_I hate mudbloods._

_I hate Hermio—_

Draco dropped his quill, his hands shaking to their fingertips. He had written for hours on end, filling nearly a whole book, and all with the same words. His hand was cramped, his arm from the wrist to the elbow was stiff, and when he tried to rub out the dull pain it only seemed to worsen.

_How am I supposed to serve the Dark Lord when I can't write a simple phrase?_ he thought irritably. He hated mudbloods and all the filth they represented, and yet…

And yet he could not bring himself to hate _her_. He jumped at her, teased her, brought her to the brink of tears and beyond. He showed all outward signs of the deepest, purest of the purebloods' hatred. But there was always that nagging twitch in the back of his mind. That small, seemingly insignificant part of him, that held the feelings he was supposed to have at bay. He had been raised to hate muggle-borns and blood traitors. All who were not pureblooded or traitors to their blood: Potter, the Weasleys, Dumbledore, and on and on.

_And Granger_.

But the harder he tried to express his feelings in his solitude, the more he had to force himself to think on the future. He was a Death Eater now, living on the run and in secret, the dutiful Professor Snape guarding his every move so not to end up with a shorter lifeline. Draco knew the only reason he was being protected was because of his mother, and for that he held something close to love for her in his heart. But, the truth being what it was, he held more contempt and reserved a special place of the deepest loathing for his father, the man who caused his own son to lead but a shadow of a life.

Draco sighed painfully, then crumpled the dirty piece of parchment and tossed it into the fire that blazed beside him. He was torn. Should he go against all that he knew, all that he had been taught? Or should he be the son everyone expected him to be, wearing the Dark Mark proudly?

In a week's time, he would have to face this very dilemma. The Dark Lord's forces were hovering over the place that Potter and his gang were known to be hiding, holding their breath in wait. They meant to strike, but not if the opposition struck first. And that was exactly what Voldemort intended to do.

The only problem was that Draco did not know which team he was going to fight for. Well practiced in both Legilimens and Occlumency, he could shut out his thought so that he was able to think freely and not have to worry about being struck dead every other second. And he was not only well practiced, but exceptional. He was a natural.

But Voldemort didn't scare him. Not anymore. What scared him most was his own indecision. Why could he not just do what he wanted most? Why was the decision so difficult? Shouldn't the answer be the right one? The one that _feels_ right? He should not have to struggle so, two sides of his brain pulling against each other, willing the other to follow along or vanish. But, somehow, both answers seemed correct. On the one hand, he would remain alive, safe, and continue on in glory. On the other…

What did he really have there? Hope?

He laughed bitterly at the thought. No, the other hand was nothing but hopelessness. An empty void.

But, then again, there can never be _nothing_. There is always _something._

And it was this something, this hint that perhaps this could be the right move, that caused him to make the finally decision. The decision that was likely to haunt him for the rest of his life, but not because it was the wrong one. Because it was so right, so much something that he wanted, that it terrified him. For never in his life had he ever gotten what he truly wanted, what he craved with all his soul:

To know love and acceptance for simply _being_ and not _doing_.

He smirked bitterly and drew another piece of parchment towards him.

_I hate my father._

_I hate the Dark Lord._

_I hate the people who would never give me a chance._

_I hate that I'm supposed to follow in everyone's footsteps instead of making my own._

_I hate image and blood and the power they have over me._

_I hate that I'm afraid to die, but only because I haven't had a chance to make right my wrongs._

_I hate how cruel I have been to impress my father and the Dark Lord._

_I hate my life._

_I hate the trials I am about to endure because I know I will fail._

_I hate this quill because it's old and doesn't write well._

_I hate having a soul that feels._

_I hate myself._

_And I love Hermione Granger._

**

* * *

Ok there. How was that for a prologue? A little weird, I know, and very open-ended. Why is Draco suddenly remorseful and potentially good inside? And WHY does he all of a sudden love Hermione? (Because I said so damn it! Heehee!) Well, the answer is: read on and find out. What do I love?—Flashbacks. And this story will have a fair few, but also some brand new twists and turns, available in the very next chapter. I am going to take this story to a very unexpected place and throw in a lot of elements. It's an experiment, and I just hope it doesn't blow up my lab :P**

REVIEW! Please :)

P.S. It's very late right now, so there are probably a lot of typos. Please bear with me :P I love to write late at night, but sometimes I don't realize I'm not writing what I'm thinking because I'm tired. Silly, crazy me :P


	2. Voldemort's Triumph

Recap:

_I hate having a soul that feels._

_I hate myself._

_And I love Hermione Granger._

* * *

Chapter 2: Voldemort's Triumph

Hermione sat scrunched against a tree, a book propped on her knees, while Harry and Ron sat closer to the fire, deep in conversation. She wished she could just go over there and talk to him, tell him how much it had hurt her over the past school year that he'd dated Lavender Brown. He would most likely retort with: Well you dated Krum and McClaggen. Which was right. But only because he was dating other people. Or because he was too blind to see her.

Why couldn't they just be together? The way Harry and Ginny had? True, they were no longer together. But there was no doubt in anyone's mind that they wouldn't get back together after the war was over. They were purely miserable without each other. What little Hermione had heard from Ginny (through a few carefully coded letters) was that she was falling apart inside, though, obviously, remained strong for the impending war. She would be entering her sixth year at Hogwarts, assuming the school reopened, though expectations were low as of right now. And Harry. Well, Harry was holding together as best as he could in the situation. She caught him teary-eyed every now and then, but other than that he was keeping his emotions at bay. He missed her, his life at Hogwarts, Professor Dumbledore. But he knew what was the most important right now, and that was destroying Voldemort before he could destroy them.

These weren't the only things eating away at her heart as they trekked through the wilderness on tips from the Order. Oddly enough, her thoughts drifted to Draco Malfoy every so often. She couldn't comprehend the story Harry had told them, about how he froze before Dumbledore, unable to cast the fatal spell that Snape eventually did. Did this mean he was swaying? That he wasn't completely evil like his father, like the rest of his family and nearly the whole of Slytherin House? Could it be possible that he had doubts?

She shook her head angrily, refocusing on the words before her. She was being silly, thinking that Malfoy could change for the better. There was no changing someone like him. He was a lost cause, just like all the other hopeless souls that Voldemort had conned into his circle.

"Hermione!"

She looked up from her book to see Ron waving her over, his face alight by the fire. Setting her book back in her bag, she made her way to the fire, taking a seat between her boys, though a little closer to Ron. He placed a warm hand on her back and she shivered. Now that they were alone, in the middle of nowhere, were things finally going to change between them?

"What's up boys?" she asked, keeping her eyes shifting between them.

"We need to write to the Order," Harry stated solemnly. Hermione sighed. She had thought it would be something easy, like casting a spell to cover their tracks or overshadow their whereabouts. Writing a coded letter took days and phenomenal concentration. And so far she was the only one who could write and then decipher what the Order sent back.

"Very well. I suppose they should know, right?"

He nodded, eyes downcast.

Last night they had been asleep at their camp, when they caught wind of something. A faint presence in the air. They moved on that morning and afternoon, but when they camped out again tonight, the presence was still there.

They were being followed.

* * *

A heart-stopping gasp stretched out into the night. Wands ceased to fire, shouts were silenced, and all eyes were on one specific place. Or person, rather.

Draco Malfoy.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!" Fenrir Greyback roared like the animal he was, barring his teeth in rage. "Kill the mudblood!"

Severus Snape shoved past Bellatrix LeStrange to stand beside Draco, who stood before Hermione, her wand raised, her mind made up. If the chaos had not stopped she would have cursed him. she was itching to now, but curiosity had a stronger pull.

"What is in your head, boy?" Snape demanded.

"I've switched sides," he sneered, as if it were obvious and as easy as a simple statement. His once favorite teacher now appeared weak and incompetent in his eyes. "I am no one's puppet."

"But the Dark Lord—"

"Screw the Dark Lord! He is nothing more than an insecure half-blood! The same as you! The same as her!" His long, pale finger struck out to point to Hermione. She moved to tighten her grip on her wand.

"How dare you, you little ingrate!" Bellatrix cried. She threw the Avada Kedavra at him, her soul completely behind it. And it would have hit him, if not for spilt second reflexes. Hermione's reflexes. She dropped to her knees, yanking Draco down with her by his ankles. They tumbled harshly to the twig-strewn forest floor, the spell soaring over their heads into the black trees, causing them to flash a brilliant green for a moment before fading away.

"Let's see you escape this one."

All heads turned to become face to face with Lord Voldemort himself, who had been absent from the evening's events until now. His snake-like eyes bore into Draco, but his animalistic face was the picture of calm. Whatever trick he had up his sleeve was a good one. A guarantee.

"I always knew you would disappoint me, Draco," Voldemort sighed, his voice carrying its snake-ish undertones. "But your father insisted you were commendable. It looks as though he will need a talking-to."

Draco didn't give even the slightly indication that he card. As far as he was concerned his father could rot in Azkaban, and then hell.

"Snape, step aside."

But the former Hogwarts teacher did not move.

"I knew it!" Bellatrix shrieked. "I knew it! Blasphemer!"

"Calm yourself, Bella," Voldemort instructed. "I will take care of this." He turned back to his enemies, five strong now. But the number mattered not. His plans could still be carried out. "I warned any that stood in my way that there would be consequences. And I vowed to rid myself of you, Harry Potter."

Harry took a step forward, ready for the inevitable attack. All he could think about was Ginny, alone and scared, his heart pounding with fear for her.

"Now it seems I shall have all I have worked so hard for tonight. Lucky me." His cackle was deafening.

"Killing me isn't going to change who you are, Tom Riddle," Harry spat. "Or how pathetic you are."

"Who said anything about killing you?"

A roar of laughter tore through the ravenous Death Eaters.

And then Harry saw it. The thin silver chain they held, all of them, a chain long enough to encircle all five of them. And in Voldemort's hands: a baseball-sized device that looked like—

"NO!" Hermione cried, her voice straggled and hoarse.

But it was too late. It slipped from their hands and the instant the chain hit the ground the world around them blurred and swirled. There was a flash of bright light, followed by sudden and complete darkness.

* * *

Harry awoke in a tangle of limbs, his head pounding and his stomach ready to heave what little it contained. He muttered _Lumos_ and his wand tip burst with a small bright pinpoint of light, illuminating the scene before him, around him. The limbs he was tangled with were Hermione's and—Snape's!

"What the hell!" he shouted, struggling to his feet. Fear was reentering his bloodstream. Upon waking he had thought he had been having a horror nightmare, that Voldemort had finally triumphed, and that he, Harry Potter, the Chosen One, was defeated. Now it seemed a nightmare was inconceivable. And the proof was staring him straight in the eye: Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy.

"Lower your wand, Potter," Snape hissed, climbing to his feet. He attempted to pull Draco up, but with little luck. The stubborn blond ripped his arm free and stood a good five feet away, glaring daggers at him.

"This is ridiculous," he heard Hermione mutter, and a moment later the entire clearing was bathed in a warm, natural-looking light, the product of the blue fire she had concocted and placed between them.

There was an intense silence that followed. And then, an eruption of shouting.

"What happened!"

"Where are they!"

"Where are we!"

"How did this happen!"

"What did they do!"

"QUIET!" Hermione commanded. And, surprisingly, even Snape and Draco obeyed. "I know what happened, but I don't know how he did it." Snape glared hate at her. He was the former teacher after all. It should be he that gave the motivational speech to ensure them that they would get out of this mess. "He enlarged a Time-Turner, but, until we investigate, we won't know how far he sent us back."

"It had to be more than a few hours," Ron piped in. "Otherwise our other selves would be here."

"Well no one saw the Time-Turner in his hands until it was too late. Who knows how long he could have been turning it. We could be days back."

"Is no one going to state the obvious!" Harry snapped. All four sets of eyes were on him. "Them!" He gestured rudely at Snape and the distant Draco. "Malfoy tried to kill Dumbledore and Snape actual did it!"

"I did nothing the Headmaster didn't want me to do," Snape sighed, as if this were common knowledge.

"Liar!" Harry lunged at him, his wand poised. "You killed him for Voldemort! You're a traitor and you always have been!"

"Dumbledore had everyone else's interests in mind!" Snape shot back. "If I had not killed him to protect Draco then all three of us would be dead! And he would not have that. He was far too noble and selfless."

"Unlike you," Harry seethed. "You jumped at the chance to kill him, helpless on his knees."

"He was hardly helpless. Very wounded and physically drained, but not helpless."

"Malfoy was still going to kill him!"

"The Dark Lord would have killed my parents if I hadn't! What would you have done, Potter?" He crossed his arms cockily over his chest.

"For your parents?" Harry laughed cruelly. "I would have let them suffer."

"Harry!" Hermione stammered. Both Harry and Draco sent heated looks at her for daring to interrupt.

"You were saving your own neck," Harry went on. "You didn't give a damn about your parents."

"That may be true, Potter, but don't you dare assume to know me or how I operate. There were factors involved you couldn't even begin to understand. So keep your tainted little nose out of it!"

"Why didn't you attack Hermione?"

Hermione's attention was caught and she listened intently. Why had he hesitated to curse her the way he'd hesitated to curse Dumbledore?

"I made up my mind a long time ago," he stated matter-of-factly. "I was biding my time before I made a move."

"And that would be?"

"I'm not on the Dark Lord's side anymore!" he spat, furious that this wasn't immediately obvious. "I care nothing for his goals and certainly nothing for him!"

"Anymore," Ron snorted under his breath.

"You try growing up with my family and say different!" Draco advanced on Ron, only to be blocked by Hermione. A rip of tension shot through the odd group, waiting for him to shove her aside to reach his goal. But, to everyone's surprise, he stopped and slumped back a few steps. It was instantly clear that he held honor in highest esteem, for Hermione had saved his life, he was now in her debt.

"Harry, Ron," she said, taking each of their hands. "Come on, we should have a look around."

"And what are we to do? Wait for your preliminary?" Draco asked hotly.

"Of course not. Do what you will. No one told you to play both sides. But if you're truly with us, our side, then you're going to need to do a lot more than say so."

"You want proof?"

"Something like that. Until then, I'm watching you."

"I don't need your approval, Granger."

"Then you don't need my acceptance either."

The trio walked on ahead, aware of the fact that their two new companions were following at a distance. Both Ron and Harry itched to run back and finish them. Hermione, however, was cooking up a plan to use them for their own purposes.

"Don't take what I did to heart," Hermione called over her shoulder. Draco's footsteps faltered.

"_Excuse me_?"

"Saving you," she said nonchalantly. "Don't take it to heart."

"If you mean—"

"I mean what I said. What happened happened. It requires no further thought."

Draco opened his mouth to retort, but decided against it and continued on in silence behind them, Snape just a few paces ahead.

* * *

"She let you off the hook," Snape said when they were only later that night. The group had set up two camps; the trio was in one clearing, protected by spells, and former-teacher and former-student were in another, also protected.

"Obviously," Draco sneered. He was lying on his cloak, as far from his ex-Professor as possible while still remaining within the protection ring. "And it needs no discussion."

"Are you planning on telling me what changed your mind, then?"

"About what? Voldemort?"

"Of course."

"No."

"But you have abandoned him and your parents?" he asked, making sure he understood his actions.

"If that's what you call it."

"I only ask—"

"Look Snape, I don't care _why you ask_. I didn't tell you to protect me, my mother did. The only reason you're here is because you would die otherwise. I don't think I should have to justify myself to someone who no one knows what side he's fighting for."

"This one!" he hissed into the darkness.

"How is it the Dark Lord did not see through you?"

"The same way he didn't see through you."

"Then that leaves one problem." Draco rolled over, Snape's face half-lit by the smoldering fire.

"And that is?"

"Convincing the Golden Trio that we're not out to get them."

"Ha! With Potter's over-active paranoia! Good luck, Draco."

"I'm serious," he said, rather a bit more harshly than was necessary.

"Is there something you're not telling me?"

"There's a lot I'm not telling you."

* * *

Ok, there you have it. Chapter 2, and now our heroes have been transported back in time. But how far? And will they ever get back? What will happen if they don't?

REVIEW!


	3. The Bostwicks

Recap:

"Is there something you're not telling me?"

"There's a lot I'm not telling you."

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Chapter 3: The Bostwicks

"I don't trust him," Harry whispered, his forehead nearly touching both Ron and Hermione's in an attempt to keep their conversation from being overheard. Though there was really no need to do such a thing. Malfoy and Snape were so far away their fire could hardly be seen. "I don't trust either of them. Not in the least."

"And you think I do?" Hermione shot back. He and Ron had been berating her all night about how she first saved his life, and then proceeded to allow him to follow them as they searched the area. Which had turned up no evidence to how far back they were.

"You didn't exactly—" Ron began, but was stunned as she cast a Silencing Charm on him.

"Don't look at me like that," she snapped. "You deserve it. I don't care what you two say, saving Malfoy was the right thing to do. Harry spared Wormtail's life but no one gives him heat about it!"

"I only did that to save Sirius!" Harry baulked.

"Yes, well, you don't know what sort of asset Malfoy could be. I mean, if he's not on our side then why did he betray Voldemort back there? He sent him and Snape here with the rest of us. Clearly he's not on _his_ side. So that leaves ours."

"No matter what side he's on," Harry said through his teeth, "he's _always_ going to be our enemy."

"All I'm saying is that we should keep him around to see what his plans are. Who knows," she sighed. "Maybe we can trust him."

"He tried to kill Dumbledore!"

"But he didn't," she pointed out.

"Snape did! And he's right here with us too!"

"Now that I can agree with you on." She flicked her wand to un-silence Ron. He gave a loud huff, but said nothing. "I don't want him around either. I really don't want Draco around, but I don't think we have a choice right now."

"We have plenty a choice!" Ron piped in. "We can leave now and they can go off and be alone like they deserve. Stupid Slytherins…"

"They'd only follow us."

"Why?"

"Because we're on the same side!"

"Says who!"

"Uh! Forget it! I don't know why, but I think Malfoy really is on our side. I don't trust Snape and I don't think I ever will. Let us just see what Malfoy's motives are. If he proves untrustworthy then fine, he's gone." She got up from their place beside the fire and ducked into the tent she'd purchased for them before they'd left. It had two bedrooms, one of her and one of the boys, though when she'd bought it her thoughts had been one for Harry and one for her and Ron. But at the moment she didn't want to be around either of them.

Harry and Ron remained at the fire for at least another hour. They simply couldn't comprehend Hermione's semi-trust in a person who had been terrorizing them—and especially her—for the past seven years. A person who had Death Eater parents, and had attempted to murder Dumbledore. A person who was responsible for the Death Eaters entering Hogwarts at the end of term, thereby being responsible for Dumbledore's death and the maiming of Bill Weasley.

"I think she's really mental this time," Ron sighed before they decided to tuck in.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "I just hope she finds her wits before it's too late."

* * *

It was well into the morning when the group set out, Harry and Ron stomping ahead begrudgingly, with Hermione behind them and Snape and Malfoy several yards behind her. They couldn't be very far from the forest's edge now, for they had traveled some distance the night before. And, soon enough, the trees began to thin and a stream of smoke was visible just ahead.

"Finally!" Hermione sighed, pointing to the smoke. Harry and Ron dropped back to walk beside her, though said nothing.

Draco watched all of this with confusion and curiosity. Were they still fighting over her decision to allow him and Snape to come with them? Though, immediately, this posed an even bigger question. Why was she allowing them to travel together? Surely she didn't trust them. And especially not Snape after what had happened at Hogwarts.

_She must have a hidden agenda_, he thought, smiling secretly. He was still battling over his feelings for her, unsure of how to act. He loved her, he was sure of it, as angry as it made him. So then should he be nicer to her? Show her how he felt? But that didn't seem right at all. She hated him just the way she always had, the way she was entitled to after how badly he had been to her for so long. Because for so many years he had truly believed he hated her the way his father told him he should hate her and all mudbloods and blood traitors. And the burning feeling he had when he was around her certainly felt like hate, though something always told him it was different from the burning he felt when he was around Harry or Ron. He reasoned it was more intense hatred. He now knew it was love, though how it had happened he would never know. It seemed that one day he woke up and suddenly he knew he loved her.

No, that wasn't right. Now that he thought about it, he knew exactly when he'd realized it. It was after he and Snape had fled to Voldemort, throwing themselves on to their knees to beg forgiveness. A few weeks later they were told of the plan to hunt down Harry and his friends when—for surely they would—they came after him and the Death Eaters.

"Harry Potter and those two miserable friends he has dogging his every step," Voldemort had said. "The Weasley boy and that horrid little mudblood who isn't worth mentioning her name."

Draco's heart had tightened at these words. His hands involuntarily clenched and he had a sudden and almost uncontrollable urge to strangle his supposed master. It was a week later that he'd attempted to write out his hate for her, only to find that his hand wouldn't obey.

"Malfoy!"

He looked up to find Hermione standing before him, with Snape at his side and the others far ahead, just outside the trees. Apparently, so deep in thought, he had stopped dead in his tracks.

"Are you coming or not?"

"Yes," he snapped, really not meaning to. He wanted to make a conscious effort to be civil with her, but it seemed his personality won out. He was going to have to make a real effort eventually, though for what reason he knew not. There was no way his revelation would have any effect on anyone other than himself. Not that anyone would ever know, let alone believe him. He would make damn sure of that.

Once outside the forest, it was still unclear how far back they were. A small unfamiliar cottage-type house loomed in the distance, providing no answers.

"We should send up a signal," Hermione said. "We all know about Time-Turners. Our other selves will see the sparks and come to us."

"That's assuming we're anywhere near them," Ron pointed out.

Before they could agree or disagree on her solution, she raised her wand and sent up green sparks, followed by red ones. They all stared at her boldness, but said nothing. After all, she was the only one with a plan.

"See," Ron snorted. "Nothing."

"Can it Weasley," Malfoy hissed to everyone's surprise, and especially his own. He hadn't even thought to say it, let alone decide to.

But before anyone could say anything about his abnormal behavior, the sound of hurried footsteps was heard.

"Here we come!" Hermione whispered in triumph, pumping her fist in the air. But the figure that emerged from the trees in nearly the exact same place they had come was not any of them, and certainly no one why had ever seen before. In fact, he was dressed so strangely they weren't sure if he was a muggle or a wizard.

"ARE YOU INSANE!" the auburn-haired man bellowed, waving his arms wildly in the air. "This is a muggle community! If they catch you—"

"We're so sorry," Hermione said, frowning. "It's only that we're lost. We got into a bit of trouble with Voldemort and—" She stopped dead, realizing her mistake. Surely he wouldn't help them if he knew Voldemort was after them, and especially not after she said his name. But no cringe or shriek followed. He only looked at her strangely, his head tilted to the side.

"Who now?" he asked, his voice sounding soft and sweet now that he was no longer so angry.

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," she said sheepishly.

"I don't know who you're referring to."

"Surely you know who Lord Voldemort is!" Snape cut in, stepping into the front with a commanding air.

"I'm afraid I don't know of any lord. I don't communicate often with muggles. I find them confusing, how scared they are of our kind, with the hangings and such."

"_Excuse me_!" Hermione baulked. Had she heard wrong?

"I find them confusing," he repeated, smiling sweetly at her.

"No, no. The hanging part."

"Oh you know!" he laughed. "The villagers get all in hysterics when they think they've found a witch. A lot of innocent muggles have been hanged 'cause of it. And a fair few unfortunate witches and wizards who have had to leave town and start over."

"I—" She began, but stopped, her breath quickening and her heart wrenched. No. It couldn't be. It wasn't possible! She looked to Ron and Harry, both their faces contorted with confusion and horror as they realized what was happening. But it was Draco who asked the inevitable question.

"What is today's date?"

"July 27th," he said, looking just as confused as them. "Why do you ask? Have you been lost for long?"

"No," Draco snapped. "The year!"

"Now don't be rude! It's the same year it's been all year. 1806!"

"WHAT!" they all cried in unison, their hopes of returning and thwarting Voldemort falling into the bottomless pit their voices had left.

"Sir," Hermione said when she thought she'd regained her composure. "Do you know what a Time-Turner is?"

"Of course I do. Never seen one, but our kind are very found of them. Just last week I wish I had one when my neighbor looked in my window and caught me lighting the fire with my wand. I had to chase her down and modify her memory. She hasn't been the same since. I think I may have—"

"Please, sir," she interrupted. "We are in great need of your assistance."

She suddenly had his full attention.

"We're in more trouble than we thought. Our enemy, a very evil Dark wizard, used a Time-Turner against us to get us out of his way. We originally thought he had sent us back a few hours…It seems that we were very wrong."

"What do you mean?" he was phenomenally intrigued.

"We're not from this time," she said, trying to sound as sane as possible. "This Dark wizard sent us back far more than hours. It seems he sent us back many, many years."

The man was noticeably startled.

"How many?"

"Nearly two hundred," she sighed painfully. "We're from the year 1997."

* * *

It took no convincing for the wizard, whose name they learned was Maddock Bostwick, to allow the group to come into his home. In fact, he practically forced them to come inside. And, after Hermione had told him their story, including a rather gruesomely detailed account of Voldemort, he insisted that they stay with him until their matter was sorted out.

"But how are we to get back?" Hermione asked, barely able to hold back her tears. They would die before the Time-Turner recycled itself! "Time-Turners can only travel _back_ in time! Not forward! We can never go back!"

"I'm sure with all of our heads we can figure it out. This Voldemort fellow must have altered the one he had to send you back so many years. If that can be done, then surely this can."

"We need a Time-Turner first," she sighed, exasperated. Even though she had only been awake a few hours she was dangerously tired. She needed to lie down.

"We will figure it all out. I'm sure I can find one. And in the mean time you are all very welcome to stay here. Tomorrow we can travel into town to buy some suitable clothes. Your attire, while fascinating to me, will only send the villagers into a frenzy."

"We have no money."

"Money is no option," he replied with a shrug, his blue-green eyes shining. He they could most definitely trust. "I have plenty of it. More than I know what to do with. Besides, it is myself and my sister who own the clothing shop."

"Why are you being so helpful?" Snape asked skeptically. Hermione wanted to slap him. How dare _he_ be suspicious of anyone! "What do you think we have to offer?"

"I expect nothing," he said, aghast. "Nothing aside from your extraordinary company."

"Back off, Snape," Harry demanded.

"Watch your tongue, Potter!"

"No! You have no right over me! Especially not now! If it were up to me you wouldn't even be here!"

It took some time for them to be calmed and separated. And then Maddock proceeded to show them around his home. He offered one guest room to Snape and the other to Draco, deciding to house the obvious three friends in his study on cots he magicked in.

By late evening Hermione and Maddock were in deep conversation. While she spoke of the future, which both enthralled and terrified him, he told her of his equally horrifying time.

"I should get to bed," she yawned, glancing at the clock. Everyone had turned in hours ago.

"Good night then, Hermione. I look forward to more talks with you. It's such a pleasure to have people in the house again." He had revealed to her that he lost his pregnant wife and their young son some time ago, when they lived in another town, one with such radical fears of witchcraft that they were singled out almost immediately. Upon his wife's death she made him promise to escape, find his sister, and live long and happy.

"I look forward to it too," she said honestly, then left him alone in the den. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

* * *

Maddock arose with the sun the following morning and found Snape looking sullen in the kitchen, drinking something from a goblet.

"Good morning, Severus," he said kindly, smiling to the man who was around his age. He very much liked Hermione's company, but nothing matched the company of someone your own age and experience. "Did you sleep well?"

"Er." Snape eyed him much like he eyed Harry, then shrugged and took a sip of his drink, which Maddock assumed was tea with the way it steamed. "Yes, I did."

"Could I ask you a question?" he asked after coming back inside from filling his kettle with the pump. He placed it on a hook over the fireplace, glanced around, then discreetly lit it with his wand.

"Fine."

"What is this hostility between yourself and the children in your care?"

"They are not in my care," he said sharply. "Only Draco, and very much against his will. I swore to his mother I would protect him with my life."

"Then he is a close relative to you?"

"You could say that."

"And the other children?"

"Suffice it to say that we came together under circumstances out of our control. And we are not pleased about it."

"But they are only children. Surely you are honored to protect them."

"I assure you, Mr. Bostwick, that they are not children. As much as I can assure you that I take no honor in my position."

It was nearly two hours later that everyone else was up and ready to travel into town, their "strange" clothing hidden under their simple and very acceptable cloaks. Only Hermione had to substitute her "boyish" boots for heeled leather button-up ones; they had belonged to Maddock's wife.

The walk took no longer than fifteen minutes, for Maddock lived a short ways from the heart of the village, and soon they were outside the shop, his sister beaming at their approach. Sometime after their arrival he must have informed her of his visitors, and she was quite eager to meet them. She had long auburn hair like her brother, but possessed striking dark brown eyes. She wore a simple black dress that buttoned up the front to her chin and a pair of boots very much like the ones Hermione wore. It was very apparent by her stringent posture that she wore a corset, though, with her petite frame, she hardly needed one.

Hermione groaned inwardly. She too would have to wear that confining undergarment. If the boots were already pinching her toes and most likely giving her blisters, how was the corset going to add to her pain? And what if they were doomed to stay here forever? How could she survive?

"Have you decided on a story?" his sister asked, taking his arm.

"Yes, I think so. Mr. Snape is a widower friend of our family from back home. The darker haired children are his own." He pointed to Harry and Hermione, who cringed at the suggestion. "And the other two are of age schoolmates of his children, coming along for support and to pursue jobs here."

"Forgive my manners," she said suddenly, reaching out to take Snape's hand, a deep blush rising in her cheeks. "My name is Celeste Bostwick. It's very much my pleasure to meet you."

Snape lifted her hand and kissed the back of it, then cleared his throat and said, "As it is mine. My name is Severus Snape."

All four of the younger occupants of the shop looked on with wide eyes. Was Snape actually flirting with a woman? And in their presence? It was too unreal, but not so much that they looked away.

Celeste proceeded to individually introduce herself to each of them. Hermione was quite miffed at Ron's stuttering and the way his eyes lingered a bit too long on the older woman for her liking.

It took a good deal of time for all five of them to find the proper clothing. Something nice, but not so nice as to draw too much attention. It was far simpler for the men, who all chose similar suits of either black, gray, or brown. Hermione on the other hand had hundreds of dress styles to pick from, in an array of colors and fabrics. In the end she decided on two simple style dresses, much like Celeste's; one in a dark blue and the other a cream color. While she wore one she could wash the other, and when she felt like it change the colors with an easy spell.

"But every young lady should have a fine dress," Celeste said at Hermione choices. "You may certainly have these simple ones, but I insist that you choose two more silk ones."

"But I couldn't." She wanted to say "breathe", for that was true. She was already suited into her corset and was wearing the cream colored dress and newly shined boots.

"Oh you must," the older woman said with a wave of her hand. She presented Hermione with a silk dress of the most luscious emerald color, the neckline low and to her very much revealing. It had barely any sleeves, a short train, and extra plooms of fabric at the sides as was the style. The entire piece was accented with tiny green beads and what looked like pearls. It was beyond gorgeous.

"Where would I wear this?" Hermione asked, out of breath.

"My brother and myself are friends with some important muggles in town. They throw dinner parties with no abandon. Surely one will be held while you are with us."

After much debate Hermione finally caved and accepted the dress, along with one in a deep scarlet, with a trail of fabric off the back of the waist instead of the sides and minus the beads and pearls; it was not silk like the green one, therefore less formal. But it seemed Hermione was still not finished, for just when Maddock was about to say they were leaving and he was to give them a tour of the village, Celeste pulled Hermione into the back of the shop. Celeste returned twenty minutes later with a different girl than she'd walked back with. Or so it appeared. Hermione was completely transformed, her bushy brown locks tamed into submission to appear loose and wavy. A simple, but beautiful, ivory hair comb held her hair out of her face. She even wore light make-up, though it could have been the blush in her cheeks from all the eyes on her as she walked out. Celeste had insisted Hermione wear the scarlet dress on their tour. And, as the group of six walked out of the shop, Celeste came up behind Hermione and clipped a pearl necklace on her.

"Don't mind her fuss," Maddock whispered when they were out of earshot. "She always wanted a daughter. But, alas, she is barren."

Throughout the entire walk through the town Hermione received the most stares. The townspeople whispered behind their hands at Maddock's companions, having not yet been told his story. A few times they were stopped by his friends, in which case he would introduce them and tell the fabrication he had concocted. Hermione and Harry became more and more irritated as the day wore on, being referred to as Snape's children.

"It's worse than people thinking I'm related to the Dursley's," Harry groaned. Hermione nodded vigorously. But they had some consolation; Snape wasn't enjoying this story either.

The townspeople weren't the only ones who couldn't keep their eyes off Hermione, however. More than once she caught all three boys giving her eyes, and then they would quickly look away. She was thankful that Ron was taking notice in her, and she really didn't mind that Harry thought she looked nice, but Draco? Every time their eyes met a chill ran through her.

She prayed they would get out of here soon. She didn't know how much more of this she could take.

* * *

Yet again Hermione stayed up talking with Maddock. Only this time it was he who turned in first. Today he had taken the day off on their account; tomorrow he was back to work with Celeste.

For nearly an hour Hermione sat in the den, trying to force yawns. But her brain simply wouldn't allow her to be tired with all that swam in it. And the thing that plagued her the most was the way Draco had been eyeing her all day.

At around midnight she decided to get some fresh air. She stepped out onto the porch, her eyes immediately spotting the small bonfire in the yard. She approached it cautiously and found she wanted to run back when she saw who was sitting before it.

Draco.

Abandoning all fears and apprehensions, she took a seat on the other sideways log, presumably the one Snape had been sitting on. Which explained Draco's deeper than usual frown.

For a long while neither said anything, let alone acknowledged the others presence.

"What was it like?" Hermione asked, tossing the piece of grass she had been playing with into the flames.

Draco looked up from the crackling fire, Hermione's beauty intensified in its light. Had he ever wanted to kiss someone so badly? Had any girl ever been this phenomenally gorgeous to him? And it wasn't just the dress and her hair; something else about her made him far more attracted than normal. Normal being that he snuck glances at her in class, later cursing himself for looking at a mudblood.

When she smiled meekly he realized what it was. She too was making a conscious effort to be civil.

"What was what like?" He masked his inner emotions with expertise. He was, above all, a Slytherin.

"Growing up the way you did. Living with Death Eaters. Fighting your conscience."

"Not easy," he said simply, his eyes back on the fire. Why couldn't she just go back inside? It was too unbearable to be around her, especially under these new circumstances. "What are you doing out here anyway?"

"Can't sleep," she said with a shrug. "Besides, if you're on our team now then I think we should know each other a little better. For starters: Why did you change sides?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

She arched an eyebrow at him. He resisted the urge to lunge at her and tear her dress off.

"Why did you save my life?"

"I'm still trying to figure that out," she answered honestly. "In hindsight it was the right thing to do."

"I'm sorry," he blurted out, immediately regretting it. But the pull was just too strong.

"For what?"

He bit his lip. "Everything."

"What happened isn't your fault. You don't want to be here any more than the rest of us."

"Not that," he sighed, angry that he had to embarrass himself further with an explanation. "_Everything_."

Hermione's eyes widened in shock and realization. She wanted to say a million things at once. Her mind raced with questions. But, in the end, she said only two words:

"Thank you."

And before Draco could hurt his pride further, she whispered a good night and skirted back into the house.

He was silently grateful, for he knew all that had been on the tip of her tongue. And it took incrediable strength, and compassion, to hold it.

_No wonder I love her_, he thought, his brain still reeling, unsure of how he should feel about the events of the night. He laid back, tucking his arms under his head. _She's perfect_.

* * *

Yay! Look how long that was:) Wee! I know it seems I moved along rather fast, but I have a ton more to get in, so I had to get this time travel business out of the way first. There was really nothing to lead them into it, so I just went with it. And I know I haven't really given an adequate explanation for Draco loving Hermione, but that's because Draco is still struggling with it. So if he doesn't know they it's only right that you don't either :P Heehee!

REVIEW!

**P.S. How did you like the mention of dinner parties? Meaning dressing up and dancing? Hint. Hint.**


	4. A Little Like The Truth

Recap:

He was silently grateful, for he knew all that had been on the tip of her tongue. And it took incredible strength, and compassion, to hold it.

_No wonder I love her_, he thought, his brain still reeling, unsure of how he should feel about the events of the night. He laid back, tucking his arms under his head. _She's perfect_.

* * *

Chapter 4: A Little Like The Truth

Hermione awoke with an unusual smile on her face, her skin and hair smelling sweetly of the campfire from last night. When the boys inquired about her sudden good mood, she brushed them off with, "It's such a nice day," and went off to get ready.

They would never understand her explanation anyway. After all, she barely did. She was happy because of Draco, a phenomenon in itself. There was the simple answer, however: she thought she was finally going to see beyond his hard exterior, finally know what drove him. She was ready for disappointment, but that didn't make the hunt any less exciting.

"This is delicious, Hermione," Ron said around a mouthful of food. She'd decided to make them breakfast, seeing as Maddock was already gone to the shop and usually made it, and the fact that neither Ron nor Harry knew the first thing about cooking, especially muggle cooking.

Harry ate in silence, picking at his food with much less enthusiasm. He had been unusually quiet, even for him, ever since they arrived here. Hermione knew the cause of this: Voldemort finally succeeded over him, plus the added sting of having to put up with Draco and Snape. It was probably eating away at him that all he could do was sit around and wait for an answer to fall into his lap. Voldemort was nearly two hundred years in the future, completely untouchable. Hermione made a note to speak with him in private, though it would be difficult, what with Ron always around.

Halfway through their breakfast, Draco came laggardly into the kitchen, heavy bags hanging under his dead gray eyes. Clearly he hadn't slept well, if at all. And he still smelled of the fire, causing Hermione to take a more active notice.

"Where's Snape?" he demanded into his goblet of morning tea. Since they had been here he had hardly eaten at meals, usually only taking a few cups of tea and maybe some bread. Something was wearing on his mind as well.

"Shouldn't he be up your ass like usual?" Ron sneered.

"You have jam on your face, Weasley." He then turned to Hermione. "Have you seen him?" And this time it wasn't so much a demand, something not lost on either boy.

"Not since yesterday." Even though she tried, all she could manage was sounding tired, not angry or annoyed the way she meant to. What was going on? Did her brain get scrambled in the time warp?

"Damn it." He slammed his tea down heavily. "He should not be wandering around on his own."

"What's the matter?" Ron jumped back in; Harry appeared lost in his own little world again. "Don't trust your mentor?"

"Not that it's any of your business, Weasel, but no. I don't."

"Maybe he went to the shop with Maddock," Hermione suggested. And then she had the most astonishing thing. "I'll go with you. I need to speak with him about his progress with the Time-Turner anyway."

All three boys were stunned stupid.

"I'll get dressed," was Draco's response.

"Hermione!" Harry snapped when they were all alone again. "What're you doing!"

"Taking an initiative," she said sourly, heading for the front room to put on her boots and cloak. The boys followed.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Firstly, I don't like the idea of Snape out on his own either. Second, I don't like the idea of Malfoy doing the same any better. And lastly, I really do need to talk to Maddock."

"I can't let you go off _alone_ with Malfoy!" Ron stammered. "He'll curse you!"

"Oh right," she scoffed. "And bringing you two along will make this whole excursion faster? Easier?" They had no retort for that; she was right, their hatred towards Malfoy would only cause headaches. "Just stay here and look through those books Maddock has. Surely there's something in them that will help." She was referring to the few magic books he had managed to smuggle here after fleeing from his home; and they had been carefully disguised and hidden.

"Come on, Granger," Draco said, coming up behind them, still buttoning his suit coat. He pulled on his cloak, put on a fashionable top hat, then stuffed his wand discreetly in his pocket.

"I'll see you later guys." And before they could protest further, she and Draco were out the door.

"So you think you've come to babysit me?" Draco laughed.

"If you think I'm changing your diapers you're sadly mistaken."

"Cute," he groaned. "What'd'you think Snape's up to?"

"Nothing," she said with a shrug. "He's probably in the shop like I said."

"But—"

"There's not really much he could do here, Malfoy. I'm not all that worried about him at the moment. That Time-Turner has all my attention. And if that doesn't work, then we'll just have to figure some other way to get back because there is no way in hell I am spending the rest of my life here."

"Do you realize this is the most we've talked? Ever?"

Hermione gave a half-laugh, half-scoff.

"Yes, well, once you break out the insults there isn't much room for conversation."

"I thought I apologized for that," Draco said, gnashing his teeth.

"I don't remember accepting it."

"You said thank you!"

"Yes! Thank you for acknowledging what an ass you've been! Forgiveness doesn't come that easy Mr. Mini Death Eater!"

Draco stopped dead in his tracks, as did Hermione, realizing how cruel she had just been. She had sunk to his level.

"I didn't mean that," she said quickly.

"Whatever Granger. Let's just find Snape."

* * *

"Hermione! Draco!" Maddock beamed as they entered the shop, the sound of the doorbell still jingling in their wake. "What a pleasant surprise!"

One look around the shop told them that Snape wasn't here. At least not in the front part. There was a slim blonde woman with two children in the far left corner, and a rather tall sullen looking fellow cashing out. He slipped past them after paying, mumbling angrily to himself.

"Don't mind Mr. Worth," Maddock said with a sweeping hand gesture. "He's been that way for years. Never really got over what happened to his parents."

Hermione was about to ask what happened to his parents, when a piercing laugh shot through to them from the back room. Celeste's laugh.

"Who—" But her question was answered as Celeste came into the front on the arm of none other than Snape. Hermione looked to Draco, as if he could supply an explanation for this strange occurrence; he was just as dumbfounded as she was.

"D-Draco?" Snape stuttered, making a move away from Celeste. She wouldn't have this, however, and clung to him like a vice. "Granger? What are you two doing here? You had orders to stay in the house."

"Do you really want to discuss this here?" Draco asked, his lip curling into his all too famous smirk. And for the first time Hermione felt what he must feel all those times: absolutely powerful.

"Excuse me, Celeste," Snape said, managing to get her off his arm. He followed Draco into the back room, his back slumped just a little.

That day when they came upon Maddock and Hermione told their story, she had conveniently left out the reason for their obvious hostility. She figured that if he knew about Draco's attempted murder and Snape's successful one that they would no longer be privileged to stay at his home. In private Ron and Harry had told her that they wanted to go to Maddock and tell him the truth about Draco and Snape, thereby getting them kicked out and then they wouldn't have to deal with them anymore. But Hermione knew it was not that simple; to make sure that everything in their time was the same when they returned, then they had to bring their enemies back with them, otherwise, left behind, they could cause some serious irreversible damage.

"Now what is this all about?" Celeste wanted to know, crossing her arms over her small chest. Hermione could just barely see her wand outlined under her dress; so they did carry them on them.

"They have unresolved issues with one another," Hermione said, not nearly the explanation she was looking for. Maddock seemed to accept this, however, and turned to Hermione, his face somewhat drawn. "What is it?"

"The Time-Turner," he whispered, glancing at the blonde with the children, but she appeared engrossed in shopping and managing to keep her children from slapping each other.

"What's wrong? What happened? Is it—"

"Calm yourself," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Nothing has happened. It's only that I won't be able to obtain this particular one." He sighed heavily, motioning for her to take a seat on the sewing stool beside her. Very hesitantly she did. "I knew of two, but it seems the Ministry is on to my friend and is taking steps to confiscate it."

Hermione groaned. She had grown to hate the Ministry of Magic after all it had done to Harry and the cover-up of Voldemort. The problems just seemed to follow her, no matter what century she was in.

"The other one will be considerably harder to acquire."

"Why?"

"Because it's my ex-fiancé's," Celeste cut in, looking dour. "After what happened with Maddock's family," she said softly, choosing her words carefully, "he decided that he didn't want to marry me. I've only seen him once since we broke the engagement, and that wasn't a very pleasant encounter." She leaned in close to them, giving the blonde woman another glance. "The Ministry was involved and several muggles had to have their memories modified…I sort of lost my temper and used magic on him." She bit her bottom lip, ashamed with herself.

"So it's impossible to get…_it_ from him?" Hermione asked, crushed. And here she thought they had a really good shot at figuring this out. Once they had the Time-Turner they could see how Voldemort had altered it, thereby giving them a map to alter it themselves. Of course, things weren't always as easy as they appeared.

"Not entirely," Celeste sighed. "His sister and myself are still on rather good terms. She thinks he was foolish for leaving me to protect himself." She sneered, showing that she agreed with this friend of hers. "And she can't stand the muggle woman he married."

"So where does this leave us?"

"I've invited Leala to spend the week with me." Celeste lived in an apartment above the shop; she felt it was absurd to live with her brother when she was very capable of caring for herself. "She'll be arriving within the next few days. And she's very eager to meet you all."

Hermione smiled and thanked her, but was not really looking forward to meeting yet another witch or wizard who would ogle over them.

"So, Hermione, how are your clothes working out for you?" Celeste asked, raising her voice to its normal speaking volume. But the muggle woman was none the wiser of any strange happenings in the shop around her; she was far too busy in her own affairs and looked like she wouldn't be done any time soon.

"They're rather snug," Hermione said, unable to help her deadened tone. She despised the corset and whoever invented it, and the boots made it difficult for her to do anything but walk. She would kill for a pair of jeans and some trainers.

"Oh dear," the older woman laughed. "Yes, well, the clothing you wore in here must have been so comfortable compared to what you have on now. I daresay I would love to visit your—er—home. They have quite an interesting fashion sense."

"Yeah," Hermione laughed. "We can actually brea—"

There was a sudden crash in the back room, followed by raised and angry voices, though no actual words could be deciphered. The blonde woman finally seemed to take notice in her surroundings, frowning in the direction of the commotion. A moment later Draco burst from the curtained doorway behind the cashier counter, his cheeks scarlet with rage.

"Granger," he snapped, grabbing more than just her attention. "We're leaving."

"I'm not going anywhere, Draco," she said matter-of-factly. She rather enjoyed Maddock and Celeste's company. Ron and Harry were great, of course, but all they wanted to talk about was Snape and Draco and how much they loathed them. Hermione grew quickly tired of it.

"Fine," he huffed, throwing his arms in the air. "I'll just walk around by myself!"

At this Hermione slid off her stool, furious that he'd conned her in to leaving.

"It was nice seeing you again, Celeste," Hermione said, giving a little curtsy; she had been taught more than how to dress and speak. "I'll see you at dinner, Maddock."

Draco all but dragged her from the shop, his breathing still labored from his argument with Snape.

"I can't _believe_ him," he fumed, trudging in the opposite direction of the house.

"And _I_ can't believe_ you_," Hermione countered. "I was having a nice time with them and you have to force me out of there with your little threats! And where the hell are you going!"

"I need a drink," he shot at her, then ducked into the nearest pub. Hermione didn't even hesitate at the door, but shoved into the already crowded and dank establishment, her nostrils immediately resenting her. It stank of sweat and beer, and something else she couldn't quite figure. Begrudgingly she took a seat at the far table Draco was sitting at, a pitcher of ale already before him. His mug was half empty.

"Slow down," she sighed, pushing his arm back to the table before the mug touched his lips. "I don't want to have to carry your drunken ass home on top of everything else."

Draco obliged with a grunt, then poured a second mugful of ale, passing it to Hermione. She was going to refuse, when a sudden urge hit her and she grasped the cup, taking a rather large swig. It was sour and warm, but it somehow made her feel better. She downed the rest of it and poured herself another.

"Now who needs to slow down?" Draco snickered. Hermione wiped her mouth, took a smaller sip, then looked over at him, her face a mixture of emotions.

"I hate it here," she sighed, jabbing her fist against her cheek. "So, what happened with Snape? Did he tell you to butt out of his affairs?"

"More or less." He rolled his eyes and Hermione couldn't help a small laugh. "I told him he has no right going off without telling any of us. You could have easily told Maddock what we'd done and had us kicked out, but you didn't." He pointed in an obscure direction, as if to emphasis something. "And when I asked him what was going on between him and Celeste, he exploded at me like I was insulting him. Nearly used magic too."

"We really need to keep an eye on him."

"We?" He arched an eyebrow. "I thought I had eyes on me too."

"You're not going to make this any easier, are you?"

"Nope," he laughed, knowing exactly what she meant. Just because he'd switched sides, didn't mean he was going to make it a smooth transition. "How else would you stay on your toes?"

"These boots are doing a great job at it," she grumbled, lifting her feet to rest on the chair opposite her.

Draco laughed to himself, the situation suddenly dawning on him.

"What?"

"We're drinking together in a pub in the 1800's," he said, taking a sip of his ale. "I just find it humorous."

"We might as well make the best of it," she said with a shrug. She too took another drink, only she finished hers and went for more. The pitcher was empty.

"Do you know something I don't?" he asked, waving over the bartender.

"Yeah…Getting the…you know, will be a lot harder than we thought. Chances are we're going to be here for a long time."

"Any idea how long?"

"Could be weeks, or even months."

"Who's the pretty lady?" the barkeep asked when he'd gotten to the table, his eyes nowhere near her face. "I haven't seen you around town."

"Keep those eyes in check or you won't be seeing much at all," Hermione hissed, snatching the full pitcher from his hands. He turned to Draco, clearly appalled by this _woman's_ behavior. Draco only smirked and nodded for him to go back to the bar.

"Good show, Granger," Draco chuckled.

"Yeah, well, he was eyeing my chest like they were candies," she sighed. "More beer?"

"Sure."

* * *

It was well passed lunchtime when Draco and Hermione finally arrived back at the cottage, both pleasantly warmed by the ale. Their walk back had been silent and uneventful, and when they reached the front room took off their boots and cloaks, then separated without words.

"You've been gone for over four hours!" Ron berated as she entered the den. "And what is that smell?"

Hermione sniffed the air, then realized it was coming from her.

"Beer," she answered nonchalantly.

"Beer!"

"Yes, Ron, beer. I'm responsible enough to drink."

"What has gotten into you, Hermione?"

"I'm fine, Ronald," she said coldly. For some reason he had been getting on her nerves so easily. "Harry, may I have a word with you, in private?"

Harry nodded solemnly and followed her outside, where they sat around the remains of last night's fire. Ron stammered after them up to the front door, but made no further effort. Evidently he was not wanted at the moment; he stomped back inside.

"We've both been acting strange," she said, starting with what came to her first. "This whole situation is strange. But right now I'm concerned about you, Harry. You're not yourself."

"I've lost my parents, my Godfather, and my mentor," he said slowly, his anger building with every word. "My sworn enemy has finally gotten the upper hand and I'm powerless to do a damn thing about it! I'm stuck in the 19th century, for Merlin's sake! How am I supposed to act, Hermione!"

"Well this is certainly better than sulking around!" she cried triumphantly. "Keep going. You need to let it out."

Harry glared at her with utter contempt.

"I don't like your behavior lately, Hermione."

"How so?"

"How so!" he baulked, gesturing wildly at the cottage. "How about what just happened with Draco! You walking around with him and having drinks! And the way you've been treating Ron! I thought you fancied him!"

"I do!" Though lately she'd been wondering just how much. He had been given ample opportunity to make a move and never did; she was getting sick of waiting.

"Is there something you're not telling me?"

"Of course not, Harry. You're my best friend. I tell you everything."

"Alright, I believe you."

"We're going to figure this out, you know," she said, reaching over to grab his knee. "We have to. You sure as hell are too damn stubborn not to."

Harry was unable to withhold his laugh. He grabbed Hermione's wrist and gently pulled her next to him, wrapping her into a tight, brotherly embrace.

"What would I do without you, Hermione?"

"Explode," she answered honestly. "You bottle too much in, Harry."

He kissed her forehead and sighed.

"I know…"

"Don't worry about the future," she said, meaning their present. "When we figure this out we'll go back to right before this all happened and it'll be like nothing happened. And we'll be prepared."

"Yeah, that's if we figure it out."

"We will." But it was not Hermione who answered. They looked up to see Draco looming over them; they hadn't heard anyone approach. "Look," he sighed, a deep frown etched in his features. "There's something Snape and I never told you."

Harry's grip tightened around Hermione's shoulders.

"We know exactly how Voldemort altered the Time-Turner."

* * *

Oh dear! Draco and Snape keeping things from the others! And what's with Snape and Celeste? Do I smell romance in the air? Hmm, could just be Snape's foulness. Heehee :P

REVIEW (And I shall update)


	5. Much Needed Info

Recap:

Harry's grip tightened around Hermione's shoulders.

"We know exactly how Voldemort altered the Time-Turner."

* * *

Chapter 5: Much Needed Info

"WHAT!" Harry and Hermione baulked in unison, rising from the log they had been sitting on.

"What do you mean you knew!" Harry screamed, thrashing against Hermione's restraining arms. "This whole time!"

"It's not like it makes any difference!" Draco bellowed back. "We have no Time-Turner! And, eve if we did, we wouldn't know how to go _forward_ in time!"

"See Hermione! I told you we shouldn't trust him! He's been lying to us!"

"I have not!"

"Shut it, Malfoy," Harry seethed through his teeth. He was angry enough to use the Avada Kedavra.

"What's going on out here!" came Ron's voice as he pelted down the slight hill to the fire pit.

"Malfoy knows how Voldemort altered the Time-Turner! He and Snape have been lying to us!"

"What!"

"Calm down guys!" Hermione pleaded, pulling on Harry's arm. "He's right!" Her best friends' faces paled at these words. "It makes no difference!"

"What is with you Hermione!" Ron cried, his ears flaring scarlet. "Whose side are you on!"

"Yours!"

"Well you could have fooled me!"

"Ron!" Against her will her eyes began to water. Had things really taken that drastic of a turn that it came to this? After only being here for a little over a day? Could their friendship be that unstable? "How can you say that? I have been trying to deal with this situation, trying to get us back home. And yes, maybe I have been acting strangely, but I can't help the stress I'm under! This is too much for anybody! The time travel, being stuck with Malfoy and Snape, having to hide from muggles!"

She collapsed on the log, heaving with emotion, her hands trembling as they clutched her unsteady knees. And here she thought she had been keeping it together rather well through the whole ordeal.

"If you're all done with your bickering," Draco hissed, "I'm leaving."

"No you don't." Hermione shot back to her feet, filling the gap between her and Draco with two sweeping steps. Harry was right; how could she continue to try to trust Draco when he had kept such valuable information from them? Were he and Snape planning to obtain a Time-Turner on their own and go back without her and the boys? Well, she wasn't about to let that happen. From now on her guard on Draco was just as firm as her guard on Snape, if not more. She had completely underestimated him, and herself. Hell! He hadn't even given a reason for switching sides. For all they knew it was a ploy and Voldemort was back in the future fulfilling his prophecy. "You're going to tell us what you know. And if you have any more _tidbits_ then you best share them now."

"No," Draco said evenly, his eyes level with her. He was just as determined, and possibly more. He had a reputation to protect, a name, and his honor. He was Draco Malfoy after all, even if he no longer wanted to be. "I'm not."

"You will—"

"I won't say a word to _them_."

"Oh, but you'll tell Hermione?" Ron sneered venomously, his jealousy mixing with his rage to create a new and more powerful emotion.

"Draco's lip curled into a vicious smirk.

"You got it, Weasel. Just me and Granger. Those are my terms."

A ripple went through the group, and for a moment no one did or said anything. And in the next instant Hermione grabbed Ron's wand arm—just in time—giving Draco ample time to walk back up to the house. When the door was close behind him she let go and stood back.

"Hermione!" Ron practically whined. "What the hell!"

"If you had raised your wand to him he would have made it much more difficult for us to get the information from him. And you know Snape wouldn't lower himself to tell us a thing."

"What's he trying to pull, anyway?" Harry asked aloud, his eyes on the cottage. "Only you? I don't like it."

"Ugh, me either, Harry. It's disturbing. But—"

"You're not actually going to talk with him alone, are you?"

"Yes, I am," she sighed, her voice carrying a certain finality. The boys knew there was no talking her out of it; her mind was made up. "Ron? May I have a word with you?"

Begrudgingly Harry went back up to the house. Hermione prayed he would stay clear of Draco at least until she and Ron were back. If not, then she had a whole new set of problems on her hands.

"Ron, I want to apologize to you." Slowly, she lowered herself onto the log for the third time in five minutes.

"Apologize?" He took a seat right beside her, their knees touching. "For what? Yelling?" He honestly didn't know.

"Well yes. That, and for the way I have been acting lately. I don't mean to hurt you or Harry, but this whole situation has me so stressed even I am sick of myself." She gave a half-hearted sort of chuckle, shrugging her shoulders. "I know my behavior doesn't make sense, but this is my only explanation. I can't think of any other reason. I just wanted everyone to be calm and cooperative…Stupid me."

"None of this is your fault," Ron said, taking a bold step in holding her hand. "People do strange things under pressure, and no one blames you. We were just worried. And this stuff with Malfoy." He rolled his eyes and Hermione laughed genuinely. "It's just plain weird. On our side? I don't believe it, not without proof. This whole time travel thing could just be a big trap. Get us stuck here, let us think Malfoy and Snape are with us, then, when we go back, it's an ambush. It just doesn't feel right and I hate being around Snape after what he did."

"I hear you on that. But I really see no other way around it. Especially now. We have to keep all our eyes on them, lest they do something underhanded."

"Like withhold information?"

"Don't worry about that. I'll get it what we need from Malfoy."

"His behavior lately is sending up red flags, Hermione. First he can't fulfill his duties to You-Know-Who. Then he suddenly changes sides, along with Snape, who Merlin's knows what he's up to. And this whole time we've been here he hasn't taken his eyes off _you_."

"Yeah," she groaned. "I noticed that too. It's beyond creepy."

"I think he has plans for you, and I don't like the idea of you two being alone."

"I'll have my wand, Ron. I'll be fine. Besides, where do you think we're going to talk?"

Ron shrugged his shoulders. Hell if he knew.

"Probably right here, sometime this evening. Not far away at all. If anything were to happen you and Harry and Maddock are in the house. Crisis averted."

"Just be careful is all I'm saying."

Hermione smiled sweetly at his caring. If he could show that, then why not some other, more intense, emotion? And then it hit her: they were trapped in 1806 and there was a good possibility that they would never make it home, so why then couldn't she make the first move?

With a heavy sigh—a motivational sigh—she made her decision. She would do it.

"Hermione—"

"Ron," she said, biting her lip to keep from appearing so nervous, though that was exactly what she portrayed. "I have fancied you for so long." She hesitated just a heartbeat. "And I'm going to kiss you now, so if you don't feel the same then don't kiss me back."

But he left no chance to kiss back, for he was the one who initiated the first kiss, pulling her in close to him, his hands on her face, their lips fitting together like missing puzzle pieces. Hermione sighed against him, relief flooding her like a potent love potion.

"Ron—"

"I love you, Hermione."

And there was nothing more that needed to be said. She was now able to relax for the first time since they'd come here.

* * *

From his room Draco watched the scene at the fire pit with mounting rage. Not that he ever, in a million years, thought Hermione would even _look_ at him with anything but the purest hatred, but that didn't mean he couldn't curse profanities under his breath for an hour after witnessing Hermione and Ron's first kiss. And there was no denying it; the kiss had been real, passionate, nothing close to any kiss he had given or received. His relationship with Pansy had been strictly convenient; a way to prove to himself, his classmates, and his father that he was who he was supposed to be: a pureblooded Slytherin. Not that he really had anything against Pansy, she was a good enough girlfriend, but there was never that passionate electricity that he knew people shared with their significant others. Electricity that Hermione and Ron now shared.

He jerked the curtains shut, nearly tearing them right off the rod. And what made him even more furious was the fact that he had no control over these emotions. He loved Hermione plain and simple, and there was nothing he could do to change that. No amount of taunting or vulgar slurs were going to make him love her any less or hate her the way he was supposed to. Unwittingly he had fallen pray to every man's downfall: love. And he had no clue how it had happened. He had two possible conclusions. A: his feelings for her had been brewing steadily over the years, his lashing out being a subconscious result of things he wasn't ready to deal with yet, things he wasn't _supposed_ to feel for a muggle-born, and now it seemed to be hitting him full blast out of no where for all the years of suppression. Or B: he was insane.

At the moment he was ready to admit his insanity and move on. If only it wasn't for the fact that he truly did love her.

* * *

That evening Celeste joined them for dinner, dressed to impress, her eyes flittering over to Snape ever so often. It was beyond anyone present in the room why she would be attracted to him, other than—No, there was nothing. And while Snape's attitude towards her was just about the same as it was to anyone, there was still some underlying difference. He was either planning to use her for his own gains, or he'd finally found someone he wanted to pursue. And the latter was too hysterical for the Trio to accept, therefore they settled on watching out for Celeste and her heart. There was no need for anyone to get hurt while they stayed here.

"I received a telegram from Leala just before Maddock and I left the shop," Celeste said, her hands folded neatly before her. Hermione wondered absently how she remained so formal all the time, while she could hardly keep her back straight at dinner, though the corset was doing a tremendous job helping her. "She's decided to stay at an inn a few towns over and should be here by this time tomorrow. Which is perfect." The gleam in her eyes, though friendly, flared as a warning.

"How so?" Hermione asked politely, setting down her fork.

"Why there is a gala at the Falkland Estate two nights from now. They had been planning it for some time now. And they were generous enough to accommodate the dining hall for six extra people, plus myself and Maddock. It should be such a good time."

But that was the complete opposite of what everyone else at the table, save Maddock, was thinking. Even Snape's face grew slightly paler, if that were possible.

"Don't worry," Maddock said, noting the sudden stiffness of the room. He placed a friendly hand on Hermione's forearm. "We are very much aware of the fact that you may not be accustomed to our galas. We shall teach you all you need to know in order to breeze through the evening without incident. Because you are not only witches and wizards, but from another—far more conservative, if not anarchic—time. I daresay this will be difficult, but very much fun."

The room wasn't buying it however, and after dessert they thinned out, a dead silence hanging in the air.

"This is horrible," Harry groaned. "We're probably expected to dance with the locals. I don't want to dance with anyone! I had more than a lifetime's worth of dancing at the Yule Ball fourth year." And the other reason: he didn't want to dance with anyone who wasn't Ginny.

"Don't worry," Hermione said, trying to sound genuine. "You can always dance with me."

"What about me?" Ron asked playfully, his fingers threatening to tickle her stomach. This made Harry smile, for what seemed like the first time in ages; he had been waiting too long for them to get together. If they hadn't soon he was likely to force them.

"Oh, am I supposed to dance with you? I didn't know that was part of the deal."

"This is repulsive," came a disgusted voice from the doorway. The group looked up to see Malfoy standing there, arms crossed and dressed to go outside. "It's now or never for our discussion, Granger."

Hermione kissed Ron on the cheek before untangling herself from his limbs. In a whisper she assured them that she was fine, patting her side to show that she had her wand. When they were outside and headed for the fire pit, Draco couldn't withhold his laughter any longer.

"What?" Hermione hissed. She was _not_ happy with the situation whatsoever.

"Do you honestly think I would attack you?"

"Yes, Malfoy, I do. And it's always wise to be safe, even if I don't think you're really dumb enough to attack me with Harry and Ron watching from the house."

"I wouldn't attack you regardless of who was watching."

"Is that a fact?" she laughed, not buying a word of it.

"Yes, it is."

"And why is that?"

"Because I'm passionately in love with you," he said honestly, just as they came to the fire pit.

Hermione burst into such a violent fit of laughter that it took nearly five minutes to calm herself. When she was finally under control, she wiped her eyes and took a seat in front of the fire Draco had lit while she was in hysterics.

"Thanks, Malfoy," she sighed, wiping a stray laugh-tear. "I needed that."

"We're here for a reason, Granger. And that is certainly _not_ to entertain you."

"Oh I agree. I want to get this over with as soon as possible."

"Good, because I don't want to spend another minute with you."

"Brilliant," she sniggered.

"Ok, listen carefully." Hermione pulled a pad of paper, a quill, and an ink bottle from somewhere inside her robes. After she positioned it on her knees, Draco began, laying out exactly how Voldemort had altered the Time-Turner. It was as simple as a collection of spells, though the spells themselves took immense power and concentration, both of which everyone knew Hermione had.

"And how long did this take?"

"A few days," he said with a shrug. "I really wouldn't know, though. I wasn't there."

"How did you find out then?"

"Snape," he said with an offhanded gesture. Hermione's blood boiled; Snape had better have given the correct spells in the correct order or there would be nothing holding her back from giving him the justice he deserved.

"How am I supposed to trust you, Malfoy?"

"I don't have a manual if that's what you mean."

Hermione rolled her eyes at his coyness.

"I'm serious," she sighed. "I want to trust you because then things would be so much easier. I would only have Snape to worry about and you could be a useful ally. But, as things stand now, I don't even know _why_ you decided to change sides."

"If I told you you wouldn't believe me." And that was the most honest answer he could have come up with.

"Try me."

"Suffice it to say that I saw through what Voldemort and the others were doing. Not even a fourth of them were pureblooded, so there's that. It all just seemed impossible and not worth it."

"What about inhumane? Cruel? Evil? Or, I don't know, not right!"

"If you want to be a Gryffindor about it, then yes, those are reasons too. But, ultimately, it was the fact that any power the dark side got would go directly to Voldemort. What were we, the underlings, left with? Besides the obvious prison sentences and death."

"But by leaving them you risked your life. It doesn't make any sense. If your reasons are so selfish then why not stay for another equally selfish reason?"

"I already told you," he snapped, "my main reason is something you would never understand or believe. And that's if I were to tell you, which I have no intention of doing."

"Once a Slytherin always a Slytherin," Hermione sighed. "The three C's of your house. Cunning, conniving and cruelty. How do you sleep at night?"

"I manage. Now, if we are finished, I have things to do."

"Like what?"

"Like being somewhere you and your boyfriends are not."

That night only Maddock had a peaceful night's sleep. And, in the morning, the tension was so thick it was served with breakfast.

* * *

You know I really should be packing for college, but I just can't help myself. I've even been putting my other fic aside for this story. Not that I've abandoned it (I would never!), but I have writer's block with it and this story is just flowing. So why halt both when I could continue with this one so easily?

REVIEWS mean I will update faster :)

**This is the last update before I leave for college (tomorrow). And now that I have school work to attend to I will update less often, but there is no chance I will leave this fic unfinished. It's my baby :)**


	6. The Gala

Recap:

"Like being somewhere you and your boyfriends are not."

That night only Maddock had a peaceful night's sleep. And, in the morning, the tension was so thick it was served with breakfast.

* * *

Chapter 6: The Gala

The evening of the gala approached with cruel swiftness. Leala had arrived and she and Celeste were dining with Maddock and the others, a peaceful affair where none of the out-of-place guests spoke, save Hermione, who was practically forced into conversation with Leala about the "future". She was a nice enough woman, and very intellectual for a time when women were little more than trophies. And the magical community was no exception, a sad fact which disappointed Hermione immensely.

For the gala the men (Harry, Ron, Snape, and Draco) were ushered back to Maddock and Celeste's shop, and fitted in stunning suits and top hats, along with snow-white gloves and decorative canes. Hermione would be wearing the emerald ensemble Celeste had insisted she take, complete with silk shoes of the same color and accessories of nothing but pearls.

When the night was finally upon them, Hermione felt her nerves couldn't have been wound tighter. This would be the first date she and Ron went on, but not only that—Snape and Draco would also be there, their piercing gazes on her and the others. It was enough to make her cry periodically throughout the day leading up to the gala, whenever she was alone. For what else could it be?

Draco noticed this strange behavior, even catching her in tears once, though neither would ever acknowledge this fact to the other or anyone else. It had been a bizarre moment to say the least.

"Granger?"

Hermione had looked up, wiping hastily at her eyes. Harry and Ron were out with Maddock, and Snape was with Celeste for only God knew what reason. That left her and Draco alone in the house.

"Yes?" She tried her best to keep her voice civil. If he was willing to make an effort with her then she would at least try to do the same. And it was going slightly better than she imagined.

"Is it something we should all know?" he asked monotone, though his posture suggested something else. He was leaning into the doorframe, his right hand reached across his chest to clutch the wall; if she didn't know better she'd think he was concerned for her. "Or just some senseless female emotions?"

"If you just came in here to pester me then you can leave. I have better things to do with my time than bicker with you." Her voice was full of fire, but her eyes were still laced with tears. She was struggling to appear strong and in control, but, in her efforts, she only looked more hopeless. And Draco wanted nothing more than to embrace her without consequence. The very idea made him laugh out loud. As if that would ever be possible. "And just what is so funny?"

"Nothing you would understand," he said truthfully.

"Is this more of that pureblood nonsense?"

"Don't assume you know me, Granger."

"Don't assume I wouldn't understand," she shot back, her anger quickly taking the place of her illogical grief. "Now, what is so funny?"

Draco tensed and straightened himself to his full height, a good head taller than Hermione. And she noticed some small change in his demeanor. He was almost afraid, as if she would see through him and know what he was hiding.

"My mind," he laughed, shaking his head. What was wrong with him that he was even leading them in this direction? To the possible danger of her knowing what he felt for her? Even in its most innocent form of wanting to give her comfort.

"What about it?" she pressed, truly interested. Anything to get her mind off the impending gala, which she still didn't know why she was so hesitant about. She had danced before and was quite good at it.

"For six years I have hated everything about you. But now," he sighed. "Now I don't know what to think and my mind comes up with the most ridiculous answers to what were never really questions."

"What are you trying to say, Malfoy?"

"Nothing. Forget it." He turned to leave, but she caught his arm and he felt the most intense shiver rocket through his body. "Don't touch me, Granger."

She dropped her hand and took a step back.

"I know you want to say it," she said, hitting the nail on the head.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Fine," she caved. "But I'm here when you feel like telling me."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me." She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin ever so slightly.

"Are you offering me a truce?"

She held out her hand.

"Yes, Draco, I am."

"Draco?" he laughed.

"Well I can't very well call you Malfoy when I'm offering you a truce, can I? So Draco it is. Unless you have some embarrassing middle name you'd rather me call you." She pushed her arm closer to him. "So?"

He cracked a genuine smile and took her hand, accepting the truce that was worth so much more to him than she could ever imagine.

"This could get interesting, Gr—Hermione," he said, tripping up. He liked the way her name sounded coming out of his mouth, but it was just so odd to say it after all this time.

"I'm aware of that. And I'm prepared for it. But I think it's the best thing to do. You are, after all, on our side now."

* * *

Harry, Ron, and Hermione huddled together in the vast ballroom, their eyes glued to the unbelievable sight of Snape and Celeste sweeping across the marble floor in fluid dance. And he was actually smiling, or at least as close to a smile as he was ever going to get. Celeste was bursting with joyous laughter, her head flung back every now and again.

"I just don't get it," Ron balked. He forced himself to look away. "What does she see in him?"

"Maybe greasy hair and big noses are attractive in the 1800's," Harry suggested with a smirk.

This made Hermione smile. Finally Harry was beginning to ease into their situation and accept it. They might as well enjoy themselves, for when they figured out how to get home it would be like none of this had ever happened. Everything would be back to normal.

"Hermione, dear," came Maddock's voice as he drifted between guests to reach them. "Come, dance with me. This is my favorite tune."

"Excuse me boys," she giggled in a very un-Hermione-like way, taking Maddock's hand that he offered. Harry smiled and waved them away, while Ron was less enthusiastic, forcing a smile. Not that he didn't like Maddock, but Hermione hadn't even danced with him yet. Though it wasn't really her fault, seeing as he hadn't asked her.

"How are you enjoying yourself?" he asked once they were spiraling around lightly. "You and your friends seem to be keeping to yourselves."

"We're still a little uncomfortable," she said honestly. "We've only really had contact with other…people like ourselves."

"I understand completely. But I do suggest you socialize more. Here." He motioned to someone Hermione couldn't see over her shoulder. A moment later Draco came sauntering over, a gaggle of girls eyeing him with great interest—Hermione later learned that he had turned them all down to dance. "Draco, my boy, will you dance with Hermione while I bring her friends around to meet some of the guests?"

Draco nodded and slipped into Maddock's place, his warm hand pressing against the small of her back. She felt herself shiver at his touch and didn't dare look over her shoulder to where Maddock was going, knowing the horrifying looks on Harry and Ron's faces. But what choice did she have? She couldn't very well cause a scene and embarrass her benefactors. That would be beyond rude.

Still, there was something in the back of her head telling her there was more to it than that. She ignored this feeling and stole a glance at her dancing partner.

"I told you this would be interesting," Draco laughed, pulling her closer.

"And I agreed."

"Your boyfriends aren't happy at all. I suspect you didn't tell them of our truce."

"I have no reason to." She stretched a false smile across her lips, appearing genuine to all save Draco. Just because they had decided to be allies didn't mean she had to like him any better. That was never part of the deal. And right now she could slap him for his cocky little smile. "I see you have a fan club here. Why not dance with one of them?"

"Maddock asked me to dance with you. And for the sake of this game we're playing I had to accept."

"Yes, but that wasn't my question. I'm sure they've been tripping over themselves to dance with you, and long before I stepped onto the floor."

"Are you saying I'm attractive?" Draco smirked.

"I have eyes don't I?" she yawned. "Besides, the way you're holding me I'm likely to think the same about you."

Draco's smirk widened ever so slightly. He leaned in just enough to be too close while still appearing congenial.

"I'll put it this way," he breathed. "If you weren't a Gryffindor—"

The music suddenly came to a halt, then changed to a slower pace. Neither made to move apart, but continued dancing. Draco adjusted his arms and she was now closer than ever. And she found she didn't exactly hate it, not the way she should have.

"I don't know if I can forgive you for what you've done," Hermione said out of the blue, causing Draco's demeanor to falter. And he had been doing so good. "And I don't mean the name-calling. I mean the stuff with the Death Eaters and Dumbledore."

He closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath, keeping excellent time with the music.

"I don't deserve your forgiveness," he said astonishingly. "I regretted it long before the end of sixth year, only—"

"I know," she sighed, and if he didn't know better he'd think she was sorry for her previous statements. "I understand all that, but still…I don't know. It's just hard for me to _fully_ grasp it, to actually know what it would be like to be controlled like that. I suppose I should respect you for being able to break away. That took a lot of courage."

"Hermione?"

She looked into his eyes, flinching unnoticeably when a little electric shockwave was sent through her.

The song ended and Hermione saw a flame of red behind Draco. Ron tapped him on the shoulder and asked politely to cut in, though both could see the utter contempt behind his smile.

"If she wants to," Draco said cockily, an edge to his voice. Was he angry for being interrupted? What had he been about to say? Hermione found she was almost desperate to know; it felt important.

Hermione moved easily from Draco to Ron, backed away with grace and retreated to dance at the wall. His fan club watched his movements intently, but he didn't give them even a glace, his eyes on Hermione and Ron. His jealousy was like a hole in his being, a hole he must fill before it grew too deep. What was he jealous for anyway? Ron had a right, logically, to be with her. Far more than he had, after all the horrible things he'd done. But he just couldn't help himself; he wanted her and anyone that opposed that was no ally of his. With the obvious exception of Hermione, who was perhaps the person most opposed to a relationship with him.

"That was unbearable," Ron groaned, gritting out a smile. "How could you stand him touching you?"

"I guess I have excellent survival skills."

"I'm beginning to question his motives."

"What do you mean? You always have."

"No," he sighed, motioning faintly with his head to where Draco stood. "He hasn't taken his eyes off you all night. I think I know the reason he joined our side."

Hermione balked at the suggestion, for she'd followed his line of reasoning.

"Are you seriously suggesting that Malfoy risked his life because he has feelings for me, who he tortured for six years relentlessly?"

"It's the love/hate thing," he said sourly. "Believe me, I don't want those thoughts in my head either."

"Love! Ha!" She shrunk into Ron, having spoken quite a bit louder than she meant to. "Don't think about that," she said, shaking her head. "There's no way in hell that could ever be true. The only reason he's on our side is because he knows it's safer, and that's why I don't trust him yet, because he doesn't want to be with us for the right reasons."

"You can't ignore the fact that he's only being civil with you, Hermione!"

"Can you blame him? I'm the only one willing to give me a chance. You and Harry look at him like he's been hexed by your sister."

"He'd look a hell of a lot better if he was," he muttered under his breath. "Whatever. You're right. Forget I said anything. I'm probably being an over-protective boyfriend."

Hermione beamed at these words.

"Boyfriend," she sighed.

"Yeah, I know," he laughed, kissing her sweetly on the mouth. "Finally."

* * *

Leala was a very agreeable woman, illuminating Celeste's personality tenfold. This only seemed to be a problem for Snape, however, who glared at the newcomer whenever Celeste wasn't looking. A fact that went unnoticed by no one.

"Serves him right," Hermione huffed, watching the adults across the room, deep in conversation. Draco was off somewhere in the house on his own. "He doesn't deserve someone as good as Celeste."

"What's he playing at anyway?" Harry asked. "Once we leave he won't be able to be with her." He cringed at the idea.

"Don't think about it mate," Ron said. "It makes the whole thing more gruesome."

Sometime later Leala made her way over to the young occupants of the room. And, seemingly out of nowhere, Draco appeared to join the group, keeping a safe distance behind Hermione.

"My selfish brother is very adamant about not giving over the Time-Turner," Leala sighed, rolling her eyes. "He still feels Celeste and Maddock are not safe wizardfolk to associate with. As if it were Maddock's fault that his family was torn apart!" she said, aghast, her anger flaring. "I barely utter a word to him and he begs me to be on his side. Which side? I have not a clue. As far as I'm concerned our kind must stick together."

"So he's outright denying us the Time-Turner?" Draco spat.

"No. He values his family above all, and being his sister he wants our relationship back to what it used to be. I won't give him such until he's granted Celeste her request."

"Surely you're not keeping apart from your brother to help us?" Hermione asked, her brows knit. From where he stood Draco could just make out this expression; it made him want to kiss her, among other things. How was it that such a simple movement could inspire in him such desires? Shouldn't he be able to understand his own thinking? "You barely know us."

"Yes and no. I love Celeste and wish she were my true sister, my brother's wife, where she rightly belongs. But, as this shall never happen, I want my brother to know what pain he's caused in his fear. Mine and Celeste's. He must understand this and want to reconcile it before I will consider being his sister again. Either that," she added, as if as a footnote, "or he gives over the Time-Turner."

"Those hardly seem equal."

"In Celeste's eyes they are. By giving up such a prized possession to a woman he hates, yet loves at the same time, he his forsaking his pride, something he values as much as his precious safety. She wants either his apology or his humiliation. And since the former seems to be impossible, she must settle for the latter, no matter how much she wants to simply forgive him and move on."

"But he abandoned her!" Hermione was shocked. Forgive him? After such a horrible thing! But then she thought of Draco, and how she found herself wanting to forgive him and not simply for the sake of necessity, though that was what she told herself.

"She cannot help who she loves," Leala sighed, shaking her head in a sad gesture. "And unfortunately for her she loves a harsh and bitter man, not matter the damage he has done to her heart."

A realization suddenly dawned on Hermione. That's why she was attracted to Snape! He sounded just like Leala's brother! It all made sense now.

"Do you believe we'll get the Time-Turner?" Hermione asked solemnly after a moment's pause. "Honestly?"

"As things stand the odds are in our favor."

* * *

I know this wasn't an adequate chapter after not posting for a while, but it needed to be put in, though why may not be apparent to you yet. I have another chapter hot on this one's heels, I'm actually about to type the beginning right now. Hopefully, if my schedule affords me time, I'll have it up within the next few days. I have quite a bit of homework to do in between, but I should be able to find some down time.

Thanks for being so patient with me:D

REVIEW and I shall update :P


	7. Allies in the Alley

Recap:

"Do you believe we'll get the Time-Turner?" Hermione asked solemnly after a moment's pause. "Honestly?"

"As things stand the odds are in our favor."

* * *

Chapter 7: Allies in the Alley

It would be months—nearly three—before any new information regarding the Time-Turner reached the stranded time-jumpers. Leala had been gone in all this time, sending only scant letters that told little, if anything useful. She'd left a few days after the gala, gone to her brother's home to persuade him to give up his treasure. And as the time ticked on Hermione and the others grew restless, their nerves worn raw with anticipation.

One evening Hermione had had enough. As the house slept, she slipped on her day clothes, her cloak, and her boots, then proceeded out the front door and down the hill into town. For too long she had sat in wait for something profound to happen. No book or thought enlightened her to the path back home. She was miserable here, the corset confining her air while Ron confined her living area to any space that he himself occupied. He wouldn't let her near Malfoy alone, not that she would want to be alone with him, but she liked to think it was her decision where to go and who to spend her time with. She loved Ron, as she always had, but his possessiveness was becoming overbearing. If ever she needed time alone it was now.

She made it halfway down the hill, her boots making no noise on the soft grass, when she was tugged back into something hard.

"Are you trying to get us caught?" a harsh voice demanded; Draco.

"We have been here for three months!" she yelled, shoving him away. Perhaps her violent aggression was a bit uncalled for, but her stress levels had reached their ultimate pitch. "I can't take another minute in this stupid time! With its stupid corsets and these damn boots!" She was in such a frenzied rage that she actually looked the part, her hair appearing bed messed even though she'd never slept. Her cheeks were flushed the perfect shade of pink. She looked phenomenal.

"Where are you going?" he asked calmly, keeping his distance. She was liable to strike. That, and his tranquil attitude would piss her off more, and no matter how much he loved her he still enjoyed their feisty brawls with relish.

"I need to get out," she snapped back waspishly. "I was going for a walk around town."

"And what girl with a dress like yours would walk alone in the middle of the night?"

She groaned loudly. He had a point, a very good point. If anyone recognized her then they would be under suspicion. As would Maddock, who certainly didn't deserve it. A mass hanging was not the sort of break from routine she was looking for.

"Well I'm not going back just yet," she said after a moment, crossing her arms over her chest, pushing it up further. "I can't stand sitting around doing nothing."

"How is a walk productive?"

"At least I'm not sitting on my ass."

Draco laughed, startling her. It was the first time she'd heard him laugh genuinely.

"Come on, Granger," he said, continuing on in the direction she had been heading. "Hermione," he corrected, still unused to saying her first name; mostly due to the fact that he hardly saw her to use it.

She was glued to the spot with shock.

"I thought you wanted to get out."

"Why are you helping me?" she asked skeptically, not moving.

"Let's just say I'm repaying a debt," he said nonchalantly, referring to when she'd saved his life back in their time.

"A debt I excused." Her teeth were clenched with something akin to anger. But mostly frustration.

"I don't work that way. Are you coming or not?"

She caught up in a matter of seconds and fell into step beside him.

"This doesn't mean I trust you."

"Ok." He shrugged. He never expected that. Not ever; even after the truce, which was little more than words.

"And I certainly don't forgive you."

"Yes, you told me that months ago. But I never asked you to."

"That night—" The night at the fire pit, the second night they were there. Surely he meant forgiveness.

"I was simply telling you where I stand. I realized I was wrong about a lot more than what side I chose. And I realized that I'd never apologized." He said all this with a straight face, his voice level. For all anyone knew he could have been reading from a script. What they wouldn't know, however, was how deeply he felt these words.

"Meaning?" She wasn't buying his act for a minute. He could still switch sides without getting all remorseful.

"Meaning I hated you for the wrong reasons."

"There were right ones then?" she scoffed.

"No," he sighed. He was beginning to regret helping her. She wasn't responding quite the way he'd planned. Or hoped, rather. "Look." He stopped, pulling her to stop with him. "I could never make you understand how I grew up. I'm not asking you to. All I want is for you to know I'm on your side. But you continually deny me that."

"Harry and—"

"I don't care about Potter and Wasley."

"But you just said—"

"I said you as in you. Hermione."

Suddenly she found it hard to breathe; nothing compared to wearing a corset. Her thoughts found the night of the gala when Ron had suggested that Malfoy could like her, love her even. She had never given it a second thought. Until now, though it still seemed utterly ridiculous. But still, something told her not to dismiss it completely, to keep her guard up.

"Draco?"

"Come on." He started walking again. "I don't want to be out all night."

He was kicking himself the whole way there. How could he be so stupid? What game was he playing? How much further towards the truth was he going to lead her? He didn't want her to know!

Or did he?

They reached the village in silence, but it was anything but. At nearly midnight the streets were bustling as if it were noon. Mostly drunks and whores and beggars, but a few scattered respected patrons. They tried to appear as such.

"Where to?" Draco asked, sounding annoyed. In truth he was very tired, but nothing would let him allow her to go off in a strange and dangerous town in the dead of night. Especially with its nighttime inhabitants.

Hermione shrugged.

"Just walk I guess."

She was about to continue on when he halted her. Her words were half-formed when he reached up and gently smoothed down her mussed hair, the palms of his hands brushing against her cheeks, then pulled up her hood, hiding her noticeably disheveled appearance.

"Don't want the townspeople to think you're a working girl," he explained with a certain degree of amusement. And to his astonishment she laughed along with him.

"Thanks Draco," she said, smiling uneasily. "I really needed to get out."

Without another word they set off into town, their arms linked at the elbows. If they were going to pretend to be together for safety's sake ten they were going to have to look the part. Neither questioned the others' willingness.

The rest of the night was relatively uneventful. They walked on, barely speaking, making a circuit around the village. All was calm, peaceful, as most people were now stone drunk in a sewer or back to their houses. That is, until they were on their way back to the cottage.

"Hang on," Draco said, stopping before an empty alley. "I have to piss."

Hermione wrinkled her nose at his crudeness. He walked on into the darkness, disappearing. And then she was all alone.

"Draco?" she called, hearing a rustle beside her.

Nothing.

"Draco?"

And then a bony white hand reached out, clasping tight around her exposed and frail neck. She was backed immediately into the brick wall behind her, her airways blocked to the point that she couldn't breathe, let alone cry out for help. A sallow face with sunken eyes loomed before her, a man with breath that reeked of cheap liquor and meat. She would have gagged if she could.

His mouth came down on hers, his other hand reaching offensively between her legs. And then she became conscious of the fact that her arms were free and grabbed for her wand. But the drunken rapist was too quick and smacked her arms behind her head, her knuckled crashing against the brick with a sickening crunch.

At least she could breathe now. Breathe, and scream.

And scream she did. She belted out a cry so loud and so fast that he hadn't the time to realize his mistake. He hitched up her skirts, fumbling with her undergarments, the white linen pant-like underwear she had to wear. Another man, seemingly out of nowhere, jumped in to restrain her arms to allow the first to do his deed.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, preparing for the inevitable. Clearly she was powerless to stop him, especially now that he had a friend aiding in this disgusting act. And all she could think about was that she was still a virgin and how many diseases these men must have. It made her want to cry, like the weak woman they saw her as. But she held strong and opened her eyes, staring straight on at her attackers. They seemed unfazed by this, and more aroused if anything.

"Whore," the first man breathed, undoing his belt buckle. The second man laughed, his grip on her wrists tightened. "Filthy whore."

He pressed himself against her, his hot sweaty skin nauseating. She felt the bile rising in her throat. Any second now and she would lose everything.

She braced herself with a deep breath, her eyes still open. There was a small noise in the distance, but nothing close enough to help her. There was a flash of light as the man positioned himself, and then he fell, stiff as a board, to the gravel ground.

Hermione was too shocked and scared and a hundred other emotions to comprehend the situation right away. Too shaky to sink to the ground like she wanted.

The second man keeled over just as easily. No sound. No struggle.

She registered the magic finally and turned her head to see Draco running towards her, his face white and contorted with rage. He had a dark spot of urine on the front of his pants from his haste, but he didn't seem to notice this. He kicked the rapist in the ribs with such force she was sure he'd broken at least one bone. She hoped he had.

After a few minutes his breathing slowed to normal and he turned to face her.

"Th-Thank you," she whispered, her body still shaking. She had never felt so helpless, unable to reach her wand. A sheen of sweat painted her forehead; she had been seconds from being raped. And Draco had saved her.

"Drunken scum," he muttered, giving the man's unconscious body another good kick.

"I guess now we really are even," she said, for lack of something better, something more suitable. Her shock still hadn't worn off.

"Fair enough." He shrugged. Inwardly, however, he was still trembling with fear. He was never going to let her out of his sight again!

He checked her over in silence, and she allowed this. Nothing obscene. Only making sure she wasn't injured; her face, her neck, her wrists. He smoothed down her hair like before, taking extra care this time.

"I think I can trust you now, Draco," she said, looking directly at him. "That was a very selfless thing you did. You didn't have to save me."

He looked up, their eyes meeting. The urge to kiss her, to hold her close to him, was so strong he felt himself actually leaning in. But, most shockingly, she was not backing away. Their lips were close enough to touch, when one of the drunks moaned in pain, his consciousness returning. Hermione hissed at him, adding to his bruises with another swift kick. Draco did a silent spell and he returned to his dead sleep.

"We should go," Draco said, though it was the last thing he wanted to do. They had been so close! Another inch and—_Who am I kidding? She would _never_ go for me._

"Yeah," she sighed. "I guess we should."

They walked all the way back to the cottage without further incident or words. In the front room they removed their cloaks and boots in silence. It wasn't until they were nearly departed for their separate rooms that Hermione finally said something.

"I know you haven't had it easy," she said, not looking at him. Suddenly she was very shy. "I understand that. And I understand your desire to be known as a good guy. What I don't get is your change in behavior towards _me_."

"I treated you the worst," he said, hoping to get out of this quick and easy. He was exhausted and over stimulated, in both good and bad ways. Though the more he thought about it, it was mostly bad, all bad in fact. He couldn't think about Hermione that way, especially now, after what had almost happened to her.

"Ok." She nodded with a small smile.

"What?"

"If you don't want to tell me just say so."

"But I—"

"Good night, Draco," she said, giving him a small, friendly peck on the cheek."I'll see you in the morning."

He was left standing in the darkness, his flesh burning from her touch.

* * *

Confrontation with Harry and Ron was unavoidable the following morning. Her conduct was so swayed, so off that they noticed the change in her immediately. So she told them what happened, leaving out certain points, such as Draco being so tender with her, or at least as tender as he could ever be.

The house was in an uproar by nine o'clock, and the only person that this didn't affect was Snape, who drank his morning tea as normal. Maddock insisted that they hunt for these men and show them true justice. Ron was all fire and ready to curse them into oblivion, as was Harry, his wand gripped tight in his quivering hand. Draco stood in the shadows, watching this activity until his was forced to participate when Harry approached him, tight-lipped and breathing heavy.

"Thank you," he said through his teeth.

"Lowering your pride far enough to speak to me?" Draco mocked, a smirk on his mouth. No, he wasn't going to make this easy. And for the first time Hermione didn't care, or notice for that matter. She was just happy to still be a virgin. As far as she was concerned Draco could do whatever he wanted. "How noble of you."

Before Harry could retort Hermione stepped in, her little hand pressing softly on his chest. He eased back and went to stand with Ron on the other side of the room, who was riled up with Maddock and ready to charge into town.

"You're such an ass," she said, shaking her head. But her tone was humorous, a smile hidden somewhere that the others couldn't see. A new understanding had been reached. They were beyond a truce. But no where near friendship. "Please don't provoke them."

"That's not part of our deal."

"You did a decent thing last night. Don't overshadow it with arrogance."

Draco huffed and rolled his eyes.

"Gryffindors ruin everything, you know."

"I know. But we also fix Slytherin messes."

"Does this truce last in our time, too?" He didn't know where the question came from, only that he wanted desperately to know.

"I hope so."

His heart lightened at these words, even if he remained outwardly passive. What was happening with them? They were being friendly, helping each other. He loved her, for Merlin's sake! When had things become so complicated? So different?

And somehow he had his parents and Voldemort to thank for this. If they had never been sent here none of this would have happened. Yes he would have switched sides, or so he supposed, but certainly no truce would have occurred. No semi-kindness. No hints at his true feelings, which he figured she was beginning to suspect. Last night her eyes had widened at something he'd said; she had realized something profound. He hoped she didn't try to talk to him about it.

"Right."

"Hermione!"

They spun around to see Celeste bursting through the front door, something shiny clutched to her chest. Her face was alight with joy, her cheeks red. She swept across the room and buried Maddock in her arms, kissing his face.

"I have it!" she cried, embracing Snape next, who stood stiff as if she were trying to pull his wand off him. "I have the Time-Turner!"

"No!" Hermione gasped, unbelieving.

Celeste thrust the small hourglass into her trembling hands. Draco stood close at her side, mesmerized. He was both delighted and sad. Was this to be the end of their civility together? He wanted suddenly to destroy it, smash it into a hundred tiny pieces.

But the look of complete elation on Hermione's face ceased these criminal thoughts.

"Let's get to work," she said, and gave Draco a pat on the shoulder, a simple gesture that had a thousand meanings.

* * *

Haaha! I can't believe I have another chapter already. Ok, so I have more time than I thought I did. But now I really do need to do my work. No chapters for a few days. And I mean it.

I WANT LOTS OF REVIEWS:D


	8. Revelations

Recap:

But the look of complete elation on Hermione's face ceased these criminal thoughts.

"Let's get to work," she said, and gave Draco a pat on the shoulder, a simple gesture that had a thousand meanings.

* * *

Chapter 8: Revelations

For the next two weeks everyone—even Maddock and Celeste when they weren't at the shop—worked tirelessly on the Time-Turner. They were nearly finished replicating Voldemort's handiwork, which meant they would still need to figure out how to travel _forward_ in time. Snape was especially diligent, which wouldn't have been a surprise if not for his obvious relationship with Celeste. One would think he'd want to stay.

Late at night, after everyone was well asleep, Hermione and Draco took to walking together. Hermione because if she didn't she would go stir-crazy, and Draco for his own piece of mind. They'd formed a bound when he saved her life, neither could deny that.

They didn't do much more than stroll through the village, rarely saying a word. It was an unspoken understanding. After going through something so traumatic they couldn't help but be friends, or as close to it as was possible.

Things were looking up, especially for Hermione; Ron was somehow less protective of her since the incident. He must have realized that there was no use getting worked up over something that's impossible to prevent. They had never been closer, aside from the fact that Hermione was now almost petrified to have sex, an obvious side effect of the near-rape.

Tonight, as she and Draco walked leisurely downtown, there was a spring in both their steps. One, because they were inches from getting home, and two; the list of recently arrested criminals pinned on the jailhouse door included both rapists, their faces in the tiny pictures contorted with rage at being caught, though the charge was thief.

Hermione ran up to a lamp post and twirled herself around it, laughing into the crisp night air, only stopping when she crashed into Draco, who hadn't been playing good enough attention and stumbled to the cobbled ground.

"I'm sorry!" But she couldn't stave her laughing. "Here." She reached down, pulling him to his feet. But once he was up he didn't release her hands, and she saw something brewing behind his eyes. She went to pull back, but he grabbed her face, kissing her with surprising softness for such a rough-looking gesture.

And as amazing as the kiss was, Hermione wasted no time and jumped back, giving him a loud slap across the face.

"I deserved that," he groaned, rubbing his raw cheek.

"Yes you did," she hissed, her face alight with anger. "What the hell were you thinking? I have a boyfriend, Draco, and we are nothing more than friends. If that."

Draco only gave her a quizzical look.

"I had to catch on eventually," she said, rolling her eyes. "All the hints and the constant staring sort of gave you away. Though I still don't get it."

"Hell if I do," he replied with a shrug. "Nice slap, by the way. I'm going to feel this for a few days."

"As you should."

"Why didn't you say anything?" His tone had returned to normal, as if he'd forced it to in order to gain some sort of control in the situation.

"Like what? 'Hey Draco, I noticed you stare at me. Want to talk about it?' No way. It could have gone unsaid until you had to be an animal and act on your impulses."

"Look—"

"I'm not saying anything, so don't worry."

"You think I care what those morons think?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"What then?"

"Before, when you asked me why I left the Death Eaters."

"You were lying?" she scoffed.

"No," he said through his teeth. Would she just shut up and let him talk? It was hard enough without her interruptions. "All the things I said were true. But I told you that I had a main reason—"

"You can't be serious," she laughed uneasily, her face showing noticeable signs of trepidation. "You can't have switched sides because you…because—"

"Because I like you?"

She nodded, looking at the ground. A loose cobblestone immediately caught her interest and she kicked at it. Draco frowned and kicked the stone far enough away to not be a bother, then reached out and lifted her head to look at him.

"If I can handle it then I think you can. You're not the one that has to feel these impossible emotions. You don't even have to think about it if you don't want to."

"This is all too weird, Draco," she half-sighed, half-groaned. "I don't know how to take it. I mean, God! You're Draco Malfoy, for Merlin's sake! You do not like people like me, and especially not me. How did it happen? You don't just wake up one day and decide you like someone you've hated since forever."

"Correction. I never hated you. I only pretended, to please my father."

"Whatever! That's not the point."

"Honestly, I don't know how it happened. It's pretty much like you said, I woke up and liked you."

"But to make such a drastic decision because of it!" She was nearly hysterical at this point; it was one thing to suspect he liked her, another thing entirely to know and hear him tell her. "We hardly know each other! I'm certainly not worth risking your life over!"

Draco wanted to say, "I beg to differ," but decided against it. It would only cause her more stress. After all, she only believed that he liked her, not loved her. And he would very much like to keep it that way.

"It makes as much sense to you as it does to me, alright?" he snapped. He'd had enough of this conversation; it could only go to places he didn't want to go, therefore he was ending it. "Just drop it."

"We wouldn't need to talk about if you didn't try to shove your tongue down my throat!"

"Well I can't help it, alright!" he shouted back, fists clenched at his sides. "Do you have any idea what it's like to watch you and Weasel slobber all over each other when I want to be with you!"

"Well you can just stop thinking about me like that! It won't happen! _Ever!_"

"Obviously!"

"I'm with Ron! I love him! And I could hate you all over again right now for what you just did!"

"It was stupid! I know that! Ok?" He took a deep breath, but it did no good. They were in too deep with the argument. "The second I reached for you I knew it was wrong!"

"Then you should have stopped yourself! Don't you have any self-control?"

"If you knew how I felt you would know that I couldn't have stopped myself," he sighed. "Fuck. I really messed this up."

"You're damn right you did."

"I shouldn't have touched you."

"Exactly!"

"But I'm not going to apologize."

"Excuse me?" She must be hearing wrong. When you do a bad thing you apologize; that's how things worked.

"I'm not apologizing," he repeated. "I meant what I did, therefore I'm leaving it like this."

"Fine," she huffed, throwing her arms in the air. "I can't expect miracles. But if you ever—"

"I'll ask first, I promise," he said with a sly little grin.

"Bastard," she said, shaking her head, though there was a ghost of a smile playing on her lips.

"Are we good then?" He tried to sound as normal as possible.

"Yeah." She stuck her hand out and he took it. "We're fine."

* * *

Hermione was shaken awake the following morning, her boyfriend's face looming over her.

"You better explain yourself," she hissed, then gave to a yawn. She hated being woken up like that, and especially so early. "The sun isn't even out yet!"

"Shh!" he commanded, and pulled her arm to follow. Harry was standing just behind them, scowling at the floor.

"What's going on? Did Snape do something?" She was getting a little scared.

"You could say that," Ron laughed. "Come on."

She trudged through the house, all hushes and soft footsteps. And then Hermione heard what all the fuss was about. They were outside Snape's bedroom door, and Celeste was obvious inside, for they were arguing rather loudly. The door and walls were thick enough to muffle the sound, but being so close she could hear them perfectly.

"I don't understand!" she cried. "You said yourself that there is nothing in the future for you! Why are you going back!"

"Because it would be impossible!" he bellowed. Hermione backed away just a hair; for some reason it seemed strange for him to be yelling at her. "We can't tamper with time, Celeste! It's dangerous! Just by us being here we're disrupting the balance! Who knows how your life has effect our time. We've probably already done unchangeable damage!"

"I don't care! Let me come with you!"

"You don't know what you're saying." He paused and Hermione could picture him shaking his head. "If you leave the things you were supposed to do in life won't happen. It'll disrupt the timeline as well. I can't allow it."

"But I love you!"

"Oh God," Ron whispered. "She's mental."

"You hardly know me!" Snape shot back. "You know nothing of who I am or what I've done!"

"If you would only tell—"

"I can't. We've discussed this. Just let things be, Celeste. You can't change it."

"And here I was stupid enough to believe that someone could actually love me."

A long silence followed, and the three eavesdroppers behind the door shifted, straining to hear if they were whispering.

"Uh!" Harry groaned in a whisper. "They must be snogging."

Their faces twisted with disgust.

"Thanks a lot, Harry," Hermione sighed. "Now I have a picture in my head."

"I can't live without you, Severus," Celeste sobbed.

"Gag!" Ron spat.

"I don't belong here." And this seemed to end the discussion, because for more than ten minutes they said nothing. There was some movement, footsteps, so the trio went back to bed, thoroughly disturbed.

"Please don't wake me up again to listen to Snape and Celeste snog," Hermione yawned, climbing back into her warm bed. Harry and Ron followed suit and they were all soon fast asleep.

* * *

"I've been thinking…"

Draco looked up from his feet, clinking softly against the cobbled road. All he could think about was the way her hair blew so freely in the soft breeze, and how much he wanted to kiss her again, even if that meant getting slapped.

"I might have overreacted the other night when you kissed me."

His heart stopped. Literally. And so did his feet.

"What?" was all his lips would form.

"I shouldn't have slapped you. I just did what came to me, because I was angry."

"I—"

"Angry with myself," she added, and he was immediately silent. She bit her lips in that innocently seductive way, completely unintentional, which turned him on even more so. "Because I enjoyed it and I didn't want you to stop."

"Are you ill?"

"No," she laughed, shaking her head. "But I think I might be." And seriousness returned to her voice, her hands clutched nervously before her. "I'm a bad person."

"Excuse me! You're bad!" He grabbed her shoulders a little too roughly, forcing her to meet his eyes. "You are anything but, Hermione. Do you understand me?"

But she didn't answer. Well, not with words anyway. Her lips came crashing down on his with such force that he actually stumbled, but quickly regained control and found his footing. This is what he'd been waiting for, what he truly wanted to feel; her willing body pressed to his, suckling at his lips with want.

"Hermione," he breathed, his mind fuzzy. She smiled up at him with swollen lips. "I don't just like you." Her expression changed the slightest bit. "I…I love you."

"Come here," she whispered, and proceeded to lead him into an alley that looked strangely familiar.

"Hermione, what—"

"Shh." She pressed a single finger to his lips, her other hand working at the buckle on his pants. He was so swept up in her ministrations that it almost didn't dawn on him what was about to happen. His entire body tensed up and he lunged for her. "I want you, Draco."

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, sliding easily into her welcoming legs. She stunted a moan and he thrust into her so hard her back slammed against the brick.

"Draco," she whispered, her voice sounding just a little off.

But he continued on. It felt so good! _She _felt so good!

"Draco," she said again, this time louder. "Draco, you're hurting me. Draco, stop!" And there was panic there too.

He pumped into her with more force. He was almost there.

"Draco!" she screamed. "Draco!"

His eyes snapped open and he was in his bed, Hermione's beautiful face looming over him.

"Wh-What?" he groaned. Of course; it had all been a dream. How could he have thought otherwise? Only last night he had blatantly told her where they stood.

"You were crying out in your sleep," she said. "You woke everyone up." She took a seat on the bed beside him, and when he looked up, behind her, saw that the door was closed.

"Weasel won't like you in here alone with me," he snorted, lifting himself up to lean on the headboard.

"Ron doesn't control my every move." She chose to ignore his rudeness; there were more important things, after all. "Besides, you sounded hurt. I wanted to make sure you were alright."

"I'm fine." He climbed out of bed, shoving past her carelessly.

"You're sweating," she pointed out, then tossed him a towel that was draped over the foot of the bed. "What were you dreaming about?"

"Why do you care?"

"You said my name."

His face paled and he turned towards the closet, trying to appear at ease and in search of something to wear. He only managed to further her suspicions; his back was rigid as a wand.

"The gray one," she said, changing the subject. If she pushed him now he would never talk. She walked up beside him and pointed to the suit she was referring to. "You look the best in gray."

He grunted in response and tugged the suit off the hanger. No, he was going to have to do a much better job at being normal around her. Especially now, with her knowing. He had to pretend that it didn't matter, that it was a simple crush or physical attraction. Because if she found out the truth—

"Get out," he snapped.

"Ex—"

"I said get out!" He pushed her towards the door. "Leave!"

"But Draco—"

"Look," he sighed, grinding his teeth. "I can't have you around me all the time, ok? It's just not working. So just leave me alone for a while. No walks."

"Alright." She looked truly crushed.

He slammed the door behind her before he could change his mind.

_God I love her!_

* * *

Woo! I really liked that one :) A little action for Draco and Hermione, though not what I would like, heehee! I'm bad! Anyway, hope everyone else liked it too.

REVIEW and I shall update!


	9. Home?

Recap:

He slammed the door behind her before he could change his mind.

_God I love her!_

* * *

Chapter 9: Home?

Hermione took Draco's rejection to heart, working on the Time-Turner with fevered passion. She worked well into the night, the time when they would have walked together. She just couldn't believe it. How had she ever believed he could change? Sure, he was on their side, there was no denying that, but his personality would always be the same. Cold, hard, incorrigible.

They hadn't spoken in over a week, and he kept his word in not seeing her either when it was possible. He wouldn't even look at her, sending another spike through her heart. And to think, she actually thought they could be friends. She was even starting to enjoy his company, to find a place for him in her life.

"Bastard," she muttered angrily under her breath, her hands working as if absent from her mind. She'd taken apart the Time-Turner and was in the process of putting it back together, which took much more than tools; a hell of a lot of concentration and magic.

And then, happening so quickly she nearly missed it, it was finished. She had successfully put it back together, though with one small, almost invisible change. The "Turner" was put in backwards, allowing them to go forward in time.

"I don't believe it," she whispered, lifting the gleaming object in the air, the mid-day sun catching it perfectly. She ran from the room to find an empty house. "Shit," she swore, remembering that everyone had gone to an early dinner at a restaurant downtown to celebrate Maddock's birthday. Hermione had apologized vehemently, but insisted that she needed to finish their project. Draco had been in the room at the time, and she'd caught his eyes; he knew the reason for her extra hard work, and he'd bowed his head. "Draco," she said to herself. That's right; he had refused to go out as well, which meant he was in the house.

She ran to his room, forgetting for a moment why she'd ever been mad at him. Without knocking, she burst into his room, only to find that he wasn't there.

"Wh—"

"What are you doing, Granger?"

She spun on her heel, the enlarged Time-Turner clasped to her chest.

"Shit, Draco. You scared me."

"I'm sorry." He rolled his eyes and pushed past her to get into his room. "Next time I'll tell you when I go get a sandwich."

"I finished it," she said, sick of waiting.

"Finished—" But he stopped dead, realizing what she meant. "Oh," he sighed. "That's great. Now leave."

"No," she said firmly, walking further into the room. "I'm not going to let you push me away any more." She set the Time-Turner carefully on his nightstand, then advanced on him. And before he could protest her arms were around him in a warm hug. She rested her head on his shoulder and sighed. "I'm sorry, but I want to be your friend, Draco, and I won't let you go."

Slowly, uneasily, he lifted his arms to hug her in return. He suppressed a moan of pleasure at the perfect feel of her.

"Very well," he finally said after a long while, still holding onto her. "You win, Hermione."

He felt her smile into his neck. His knees almost gave way.

"Great." She leaned back, beaming up at him. "I'll get started on our friendship bracelets."

"Wh—"

"I'm kidding," she laughed, then kissed his cheek the way she had before. Only this time, when she stepped back, her face was unreadable. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't do that."

"It's fine." And it really was; he wanted her to kiss him, no matter how little it was.

"No, it's not. I won't lead you on, Draco. I really like you, but as a friend."

He pulled her back to him and kissed her forehead. She sighed wonderfully into his chest.

_God he smells good_, she thought, tightening her hold. Who would have thought she'd ever be willingly hugging Draco Malfoy?

"Come on." She took his hand, and with the other grabbed the Time-Turner. "I can't wait for them to get back. I have to tell them it's done."

* * *

It was two days later, after many tears and an enormous feast, that they were scheduled to leave. Celeste clung to Snape's side as if he were her life-force, not letting go until it was absolutely necessary: when the five of them were encircled in the Time-Turner's chain, ready to leave.

They expressed their thanks for the Bostwick's hospitality; Hermione cried into Maddock's arms, thanking him with zeal.

And soon, all too soon it seemed, they were ready and there was nothing else to wait for. Celeste threw herself into Snape's arms and for the first time the younger companions witnessed them kiss; they turned away immediately. He whispered something into her ear, which no one heard, then stepped back into the circle, a white lace handkerchief in his hand, the initials C. B. stitched on it.

"Good-bye Severus," she whispered, biting her lip.

Hermione, with watery eyes, set the Time-Turner on the ground, after having turned it the appropriate number of times. The air began to swirl, leaves and pine needles kicked up. There was a soft clinking noise and then silence.

Snape was the first to step out of the chain circle, and he surveyed the area with his sweeping gaze. It was very obvious that they were several minutes either behind or ahead, for no other people were in their vicinity. Everyone was rigid, bracing themselves for the impending attack.

Minutes passed. First five, then ten, then a half an hour. It soon became apparent that they were perhaps much farther off.

"What the hell did you do, Granger?" Snape hissed, advancing on her. Both Ron and Draco jumped between them, giving each other nasty looks, as if to say they alone had the right to defend her.

"I calculated it perfectly!" she stammered angrily. "I know I did! I checked it a hundred times! And so did you!" She pointed a shaky finger at Snape, nearly jabbing his chest. "All of us did! So it's not _my_ fault!"

"Insolent child!" he bit back, then retreated deeper into the forest. Hermione and the others shot after him, keeping their distance. There was no way they would let him out of their sight.

* * *

It was hours before they finally came into contact with another human being, having broke from the forest. They were in a familiar area, but something just didn't _feel_ right about it.

"Oh I must be going mad!" cried a middle-aged man with ash blond hair, his hands champed tight on his head. He had a wand sticking out of his mane of matted hair. "My eyes deceive me! I see Harry Potter!" He ran around the group of five, then stopped, cried out hoarsely, and bolted off into the woods, his moans echoing off the trees.

"What the hell was that about?" Harry grunted, sneering back at the insane man.

"I thought the great Harry Potter was well accustomed to his fame," Snape spat.

Everyone chose to ignore this slander, and continued on.

"Hey!" Ron suddenly shouted, a little too excitedly. "This is near my house!"

"House?" Draco guffawed under his breath. Hermione elbowed him in the ribs.

"Brilliant," she said, sidling up next to him, her arm hooking with his. Draco frowned and fell back in step; she had certainly put him in his place.

It didn't take long for them to reach the Burrow, its lopsidedness an instant comfort to Harry.

_Ginny_, he thought, his heart puffing two sizes. He'd forced himself to not think of her for some time, the pain too much to swallow. Now he found himself practically running towards the house, his legs carrying him effortlessly.

"Ginny!" he called, pounding on the front door. It creaked open, and in the place of the handle was a gaping hole. "What the—"

Ron and Hermione were soon behind him, while Snape and Draco kept their distance. Ron clasped Hermione's hand tightly, an ugly feeling creeping over him, over them all. Something was wrong; the house was too quiet.

"Ginny!" they heard Harry cry out from far off in the house, upstairs. They ran after him, their voices caught in their throats when they found him. "Ginny," he was pleading, but the skeletal redhead only lay limp in his arms, her brown eyes flittering every now and then, the only sign that she was still alive.

"What happened!" Ron demanded, falling to her side. "Ginny! Wake up!"

Suddenly her eyes opened and she stared up into Harry's face. For a moment nothing happened and then, causing everyone to gasp, she jumped back and crammed herself into the nearest corner, her eyes wild with fear.

"Get away!" she hissed hoarsely, holding a splinter of wood as if it were her wand. "I'll hex you! Get away! Go!"

"Gin—"

"GO!"

The trio retreated into the hall—Harry being pulled by the others—and closed the door softly behind them.

"What the hell is going on?" Ron asked, glaring at his best friend. "What—"

"I found her like that, Ron," he sighed, biting his lip to keep from spilling tears. He reached for the door handle, boldly stepping back into the room. Hermione went to grab his shoulder, but Ron stopped her.

"He'll fix it," he said, sighing. This couldn't be real; they'd only been gone a few months (not including the time spent in the 1800's, which was all practically erased). If something serious had happened the Order would have found a way to notify them.

"Ginny," Harry whispered, and kneeled before her. "Ginny, what happened?" He touched her arm ever-so softly. Her doe eyes flicked up to him and smiled.

"Oh Harry," she beamed, her teeth a shocking white compared to the dinginess of her face and clothes. "How are you?"

"Ginny, where is everyone?"

"Everyone?" Her smile faded and she burst into tears. "Leave me alone! Whoever you are!" she snapped again, punching out at him. "Go! Leave! They're gone! So go!"

"Gone? Gone where?"

But her energy was spent. She curled into a ball, hugging her knees.

"Dead," she whispered, rocking just a little. "All dead…Dead…All dead…Dead…"

Harry sulked back into the hall with his friends, his cheeks stained with salty tears. No one said a word, no one pointed out the obvious. Ginny had been attacked; her mind was scrambled so that she couldn't tell anything apart. She was mad. And everyone else…they were dead.

"Did she tell you anything?" Hermione asked.

Harry nodded slowly, not wanting to say what.

"What happened then?"

"I don't know," he sighed. "She didn't say…She…She's lost her mind!" He collapsed into Hermione's arms, sobbing like an infant. Ginny, the love of his life, was little more than a vegetable now. Her brain was fried. She was a shell of a human being. And the worst part was he had no idea how it happened.

"Where's the rest of my family?" Ron asked, tugging at Harry's sleeve, his eyes rimmed with tears as well. This was a blow to them all. Ron's sister. Harry's love. Hermione's friend.

But the answer wouldn't come from Harry, as Ginny burst from the room and lunged herself at Ron, knocking him to the ground. She weighed nothing, sitting on his stomach, her feet pressed into his armpits, her mouth stretched into a horrid and dirty grin.

"Dead," she chirped, digging into his arms. "All dead." And it was like she was singing, a melody in her voice. "Dead, all dead." She was clutching the useless piece of wood in her wand hand, twirling it in the air in rhythm with her song. "Dead, all dead…Dead, all dead…"

"SHUT UP!" Harry screamed, and toppled her off of Ron, hugging her so tightly that she cried out, beating against his hold. "Shut up," he cried, soaking the back of her grimy shirt with his tears. "Just be quiet, Ginny."

Ron lay still on the floor where Ginny had held him, his eyes wide with disbelief. Hermione kneeled at his side, one hand resting on his chest.

She had no words; none of them did.

* * *

That night, after many tears and a cacophony of heated words, they decided to stay the night at the Burrow. Ginny was safely put under a powerful sleeping spell, and wouldn't wake for at least a few days.

By two o'clock in the morning they were no nearer to figuring out what happened.

"This is impossible!" Harry stammered, slamming his fist on the kitchen table. The mugs of lukewarm tea shivered, then settled. "It doesn't make any sense. How could something like this happen without us knowing?"

"I've told you at least a hundred times, Potter," Snape said, annoyed. "Little Miss Bookworm made a mistake in her calculations. We're at least several months _ahead_ of where we should be."

"That's the impossibility!" Hermione hissed. "My calculations were flawless! Something else must have happened if what you say is true."

"That still doesn't explain what happened," Draco pointed out, glowering at all of them. He was absolutely miserable. He loathed Snape and Ron and Harry, and Hermione was so focused on them that she hardly gave him a glance. He knew he was being selfish, or that she would say so, but he couldn't help his feelings. He wanted some of her attention. After all, they were all in the same bind: they didn't know what was going on!

"Yes is does, boy!" Snape narrowed his eyes at his former prized student. Where had things gone wrong? "The Weasleys were attacked in the time between what we know as the present and now, the future. Ginevra must have escaped or been thought dead, and left."

"My family is not dead!" Ron yelled, pitching his mug at Snape, who froze it midair and sent it sailing to the other side of the room, where it crashed into the wall and the pieces scattered on the floor.

"Not a smart, move, Weasley. I am far more skilled than you."

"Fuck you, Snape! Go run back to Voldemort like the lapdog you are! We don't need you!"

"Gladly!" he shot back. "If not for Draco, I would have ditched you deviants long ago."

The remainder of the night went on like this, until about five in the morning, when everyone was so tired they were forced to succumb to sleep. Harry, Ron, and Hermione took the closest room to the unconscious Ginny. Snape found a room as far from them as possible, while Draco housed right next to them. He couldn't help it; he needed to be close to her, especially now, when she needed someone.

When he was sure everyone was asleep, he crept into their room, waking Hermione with his hand over her mouth. But she was already wide-awake, and followed him down into the kitchen.

"What, Draco?" she yawned, her eyes red and puffy from the day's excursion and trauma. She desperately needed sleep, but, to Draco, this was more important right now.

"I think Snape might be right," he said boldly, then braced himself for an onslaught.

But none came.

"Well," she sighed, "it's the only thing that has made sense so far. If not for the fact that I was precise."

"I'm not saying you weren't."

"I'm not saying you doubted me."

Silence.

"Why did you really bring me down here?" her voice low and sad. She didn't want to be there, in that kitchen, where she'd had so many good times in the past. Times that had ended, seemingly indefinitely.

"Potter and Weasley are too involved in their own emotions—"

"Don't even start!" she snapped, clenching her fists at her sides. "Our lives have been torn apart and you have the _audacity_ to suggest that what they should be doing is comfort _me_! How the hell did you reach that conclusion, Draco? It's Ron's family you selfless prick! And just as good as Harry's. How dare you!"

Draco honestly didn't know what to do. And he thought he was doing a good thing.

So he did what came naturally. He fought back.

"And you don't matter?" he countered. "How does that make sense? If it were me, and not Weasley, I would make sure _you_ were number one!"

"Well it's not you, is it!"

And that, though true, hurt worst of all.

"No matter what you do," she went on, fuming, her palms on fire as her nails dug into them." Or what you say, _nothing_ will _ever_ happen between us. I could never lower myself far enough to be your girlfriend. So just stop with this shit, Draco. Stop glaring at Ron, stop defending me; it's not your place! Because while you do that, your place with me is getting buried. Don't ruin our friendship because you have these grandiose ideas in your head!"

"You don't understand," he tried to reason. But immediately it was apparent that this could not happen.

"What don't I understand, Draco? I know that you like me, that you want to be with me, but you can't. What more is there?"

"Forget it," he snarled.

"No, tell me!"

"No!"

"Damn it, Draco!"

"Fine! I—" But the second the words formed they dropped to the ground and he sighed. What was he doing? Creating more stress for her? What did she care of his problems, his emotions? Especially now, when she had mountains to worry about. "Sorry," he sighed. "I'm fucking everything up."

"No, I'm sorry."

He could only gape at her.

"Sorry? For what?"

"I'm letting my feelings about other things ruin this. And I'm not respecting you."

"Stop it, ok?" he snapped. "Don't be the bigger person. You did nothing wrong."

"Fine. Just promise me something."

"What?"

"Don't piss me off anymore," she said, and for the first time since they left the 1800's, she smiled.

* * *

Ok, there are some things that I don't like about this chapter, mainly its pace. It went too fast for me, but I honestly didn't have anything else to fill in between, so I went with it and tried my best to make it work. Hopefully I did.

REVIEW and I update!


	10. A Tale For Tonks

Recap:

"Fine. Just promise me something."

"What?"

"Don't piss me off anymore," she said, and for the first time since they left the 1800's, she smiled.

* * *

Chapter 10: A Tale For Tonks

They left the Burrow late the next day, around midday. And, much to Snape and Draco's horror, Harry insisted on bringing Ginny along.

"She will be nothing but a hindrance!" Snape cried, clutching his fists so not to accidentally reach for his wand.

"I can't leave her to be found by someone like _you_!" Harry countered. "She's coming!"

Hermione and Ron were less adamant about bringing Ginny, mainly because they agreed with Snape. She would cause them a lot more trouble than was necessary. Yes, something could happen to her, but once they figured out what went wrong then they would be back to the present with everything back to normal. But they stood by their friend, acknowledging his love for Ginny.

Without wasting anymore time, the group of now six headed for Hogwarts, a place that was full to the brim with Order members. Surely at least one of them would be there.

They Apparated to Hogsmeade, just outside the boundaries.

"Something's not right," Hermione said, more to herself.

The streets were empty, not a light in any shop or house was on. A thick blanket of transparent magic hung in the air. Something terrible had happened here. And the feeling followed them up the hill and onto the Hogwarts' grounds, that were just as eerily empty and quiet. If the school were still open (which none of them knew for sure), then surely some students would be outside, enjoying the sunlight before winter cast over them. It was well after class time, and still much before curfew.

"I don't think this is the right place," Ron murmured. "No one's here."

"We need to go to the Order's headquarters," Hermione suggested.

"_He_ isn't going," Harry said through his teeth, his eyes boring holes into Snape's chest. "It's my house, and he's not welcome."

"Play games all you want, Potter," Snape hissed. "It won't make the situation any better."

"We don't trust you!"

"I never asked you to trust me!"

"You're not coming," he insisted. "And neither is Malfoy."

Draco didn't argue this. Someone would need to stay behind and keep an eye on Snape; he was the only logical choice. That, and he was putting great effort into not causing anymore rifts with Hermione. He really didn't want to be around her right now anyway. He had a lot of thinking to do, and some careful planning, before he was willing to spend any alone time with her.

He looked up, feeling eyes on him. Everyone was staring at him, questioning his silence and obedience. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione's smile.

"What?" he bit.

"No objections?" Harry mocked.

"No, Potter. None. So get lost before I change my mind."

"You fancy her, don't you?" was the first thing out of Snape's mouth once the others had gone.

"Is that really any of your business?" Draco shot back. He was definitely _not_ in the mood for Snape or his snide remarks. "Did I hound you about Celeste?"

That ended the quarrel immediately.

"Come on," he groaned. "We should search the castle."

* * *

She cleaved her legs to her chest, her mouse-brown hair plastered to her dirty, sweaty face. She was stunned, but not afraid, not trembling. And when she spoke it was immediately clear that she was not in the same state as Ginny. At least not yet.

"Are you the only one here?" Harry asked, touching her shoulder gently.

She stared at him as if he were a ghost.

"H-Harry?" she whispered, and lightly, cautiously, touched his face.

"Yes, Tonks, it's me. What happened? Where is everyone?"

"We thought you were dead." And now she seemed quite a bit more than scared. "Voldemort, he…Ron? Hermione? Ginny!" She sprang from her place on the floor and crushed the youngest Weasley to her. "We thought he got your whole family."

Ginny only stared out blankly, vaguely aware of the fact that she was in a different place.

"Tonks, what happened to the Order?" Hermione asked. "Why are you—"

"They're dead," she sighed painfully, fresh tears rising to spill onto her grimy cheeks. "Or imprisoned. We can't know which…But they're as good as gone anyway…" The complete agony and despair with which she spoke told the trio that she suspected the worst, and that she was above all mourning the unknown loss of Remus Lupin.

"So you don't know for sure?" Hermione pressed.

"Harry," Tonks whispered. "Where were you? You could have stopped him. You…" But she trailed off in her sorrow, her shoulders buckling in.

It took nearly ten minutes for them to calm her and ease her into a proper chair. Once seated and with a fresh mug of tea in her hands—provided by Hermione—she awaited their explanation. And Harry was the one to tell it.

He didn't know where to start, so he told the story in chronological order, starting with their suspicions that they were being followed. The tale wove itself through time, through other magic peoples' lives. And it ended with pain and confusion, for he couldn't tell her how they ended up where they were.

"What year is it?" Ron asked in a soft, monotone voice. He was not dealing with the loss of his entire family very well at all. Hermione wouldn't have been worried had he ranted and raved and cried, throwing himself to the floor. His stony, silent demeanor troubled her more than anything.

"1998," Tonks moaned, biting her lip. "Has it been that long!"

As she sobbed into her hands, the group stared at each other in horror, Harry's hand firmly gripping Ginny's wrist. She had taken to wandering.

"At least it explains some things," Hermione finally said. She patted her robe pockets, then pulled out the Time-Turner. "All I have to do is make it the way it was. A week tops." But she was the only one smiling. It took her a moment to understand why, and, when she did, her smile faded instantly. Of course they wouldn't be happy! Their plan had backfired once, and look where it got them—in worse shape than they were to start with. Neither Harry nor Ron could deal with another heartache like the one they faced now. "It'll work," she tried to assure them, but they only nodded solemnly, and only to satiate her hope.

* * *

With nothing at the Order to hide, Harry finally caved and said Draco and Snape could stay there in the week it would take to re-alter the Time-Turner. Hermione was the only one willing to go fetch them.

"I can't let you go by yourself," Harry said, with Ron nodding in agreement. "Not with Voldemort out there."

"He doesn't even know we're here," Hermione sighed. "I'll be fine, Harry. Trust me, will you?"

In the end they let her go. She walked out onto the sidewalk, looked both ways, then Apparated to Hogsmeade. Draco and Snape were nowhere in sight, and so she walked on towards Hogwarts castle, a million and one memories coursing through her mind. Had the war not happened she would be in her seventh year now, studying hard and enjoying the perks of being Head Girl. She wondered if she would ever be able to finish her education, ever return to those halls, bustling with happy students.

As she walked, at a somewhat slow pace, she kicked a stone, leading her to her destination. She tried to picture her life if she hadn't been magical, hadn't gone to Hogwarts and met Harry and Ron. Logically, she would be safe right now, with no worries of Voldemort. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized that, had she the choice, knowing what each world had to offer, she would always choose the Wizarding World.

"Hermione?"

She looked up to see Draco not far off. Snape was not with him.

"Where—"

"Not far," he said, knowing what she was going to say. He pointed towards the pond, where Snape stood, motionless.

"What's he doing?"

"Moping," he said with a shrug. Hermione frowned. She didn't know what to think about the Snape/Celeste situation. One the one hand she felt bad for Celeste, who clearly loved him and wanted to be with him. And on the other she was glad that Snape was hurting and pining for her, though it made her sick to think that she harbored such ruthless thoughts. Perhaps she, and everyone else, had been wrong about him. Perhaps he did deserve love and happiness. "What did you find?"

She looked up, having been lost in her thoughts. And, without her consent or knowledge, a few tears seeped from her eyes, making tracks down her face.

"Hermione?"

He stepped forward to embrace her, but she stepped back.

"I'm fine," she insisted, holding an arm out. "We found Tonks at the Order's headquarters," she sighed. "She was the only one there, and she…she said everyone was either imprisoned or…or dead." And this time when he advanced on her, she didn't resist and allowed him to pull her close. "We," she hiccupped. "We're a year in the future, Draco."

"What are we going to do about it?" he asked, attempting to put positive thoughts in her head.

"We're going to stay at the Order…I'll make the Time-Turner go back in time again…"

"Why are you upset then?"

She shuddered. Her knees buckled. And then they were on the cold ground, Hermione's trembling form cradled in Draco's lap. In only moments their entire lives were turned upside down. Who was to say that she would be successful this time? And, even if she was, how did they know for sure that Harry was the only one who could defeat Voldemort? They could be setting themselves up for an even bigger trap than they were already caught in. And how the hell was she supposed to deal with this all at once!

Draco kissed her soft forehead, wishing away her pain. It was now, more than ever, that he knew, without a doubt, that he loved this girl in his arms. For never before had he desired to comfort another, to throw away his pride for something that he could never have but always strove for.

Without thinking of consequence, he lifted her chin and captured her lips. It was the only thing he could think of to cease her tears. But when she returned the kiss, instead of slapping him as he rightly deserved, he began to panic. This was definitely not what he had in mind! Of course he wanted her to want him too, but not this way. Not when she had a boyfriend, or when she was distraught.

"Hermione?" he breathed, his heart quivering. Had he ever felt something so powerful before? Surely no magic could compare!

"Sorry," she whispered, wiping her tears. But she was strangely composed, and very much the opposite of hysterical. "I just needed that."

How was it that she could erase his ability to speak to easily?

"I guess you were right before."

"About what?" _I'm never going to wash my lips again_.

"Me." She shrugged and curled in closer to his warmth. "I did need comfort, and neither of the boys were able to give it to me."

"I shouldn't have kissed you."

"I shouldn't have wanted you to," was her honest reply. Draco suppressed a shiver as he remembered his dream. "All this shit that's happened is messing with my brain. Draco?" She looked up, her nose almost touching his chin.

"Yes?" _God, let her kiss me again_!

"I think I know your secret."

He stiffened, his grip on her shoulders tightening. In any other situation, with any other person, he could have masked his emotions perfectly.

"What—"

"How cozy," came a jeering voice. They both looked up to see Snape advancing at them, wearing a cynical smile.

"As cozy as you and Celeste," Draco bit, then stood, helping Hermione to her feet. "We're going to the Order's headquarters."

"Are we now?"

"How about you don't be a complete jerk for once in your life?" Hermione hissed, then trudged off towards Hogsmeade to Apparate back.

"Insolent little—"

"I wouldn't finish that sentence if I were you, Snape."

* * *

After three straight days of intense work, Hermione decided to take a break. Under Harry's invisibility cloak, that had been stored at the Order, she went outside for an evening stroll. She knew she shouldn't be out on her own, that she should have at least told someone she was leaving, but she simply wanted to be alone. And she definitely didn't want to be with Draco, not after what happened at Hogwarts. She tried to reason with herself that she had been distraught, and he had kissed her first. She wasn't in her right mind!

_Who am I kidding_? she thought sourly. _I wanted to kiss him_!

But why she could not figure. Yes, he was being civil. And yes, he liked her, he'd kissed her before and it had been sweet and tender, leaving her dizzy, though angry. But that surely didn't excuse her actions! She had a boyfriend for Merlin's sake! And she loved Ron. She barely liked Draco and here she was thinking about his lips and his strong hands.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. If they didn't get back soon she would have a hell of a lot more to worry about.

In the next second she was on the ground, her face pushed hard against the concrete.

"Thought you could sneak around, did you? Filthy mudlood!" The voice was so familiar, but she just couldn't place it. "The Dark Lord wondered when he would see you again."

And then she knew. It was Draco's father, Lucius. He must have been stationed outside the Order, waiting for something to happen, and heard her walking. He knew all about the invisibility cloak and ripped it off her. She was now powerless against him, unable to reach her wand.

"Where is my son?" he hissed, tightening his hold. She bit her lip to keep from crying in pain.

"I don't know," she lied.

"Bitch!" He turned her over, slapping her hard across the face. "I know he was ready to betray us! I know he and that traitor Snape were sent back in time with you three scum! Now _where is he_!"

A sudden and complete need to protect him took over her senses. She smiled and shook her head.

"Filth!" he spat. "Tell me!"

"No," she said calmly, somehow absolutely sure that this was what she needed to do.

"Nevermind," he groaned. He preformed a silent and strong spell, binding her arms and legs, making it impossible for her to move. "The Dark Lord will simply have to torture it out of you."

And Hermione laughed.

"You find your fate amusing, mudblood?"

"No," she sighed. "Only your attempts. I will _never_ give Draco over to you."

* * *

Well I know I took forever, but you know why. Work, work, work. Uh! But at least I finally got it out. And I really like it, mostly. Some parts are iffy, but it works, I suppose.

REVIEW!


	11. Rescue?

Recap:

"You find your fate amusing, mudblood?"

"No," she sighed. "Only your attempts. I will _never_ give Draco over to you."

* * *

Chapter 11: Rescue?

When Hermione didn't come down for breakfast, they figured she was sleeping in, having exhausted herself with the project. And when she didn't come down for lunch, they reasoned that she was working hard, determined to get back to their time. But when dinner came and went, no one could deny their suspicions any longer. Something was wrong.

Draco would have been the first in line to her room, had it not been for his argument with her only days ago. She was absolutely right, of course. No matter how strongly he felt for her, how badly he wanted to be the one to protect her, it simply could not happen. He had no right. But, more importantly, _she_ didn't want him to. And so he followed Ron, then Harry, then Tonks upstairs and to Hermione's room. Ginny floated aimlessly at Harry's side, her eyes unfocused and wandering. Snape opted to stay in the kitchen.

"Hermione?" Ron called, knocking softly on the door. After a few minutes with no answer, he slowly opened the door. "Hermione?" he asked hopefully, only to find her bed made and the Time-Turner sitting on the dresser. She was nowhere in sight. "Hermione!"

In less than a second everyone was in her room, searching all corners and closets. When there was nothing left to search, still Draco checked the closet Harry had checked, then under the bed, then behind the door. Even in the wardrobe that only a child could have fit in.

"Where is she?" Ron demanded of the room, his voice and eyes frantic with fear and guilt. If he'd been more attentive and slept in her room with her, then he could have kept an eye on her and she would still be here. "Where is she!"

"Ron, don't—"

"Don't you dare tell me how to act Harry!"

"Would you two shut your insolent traps." Snape came sweeping into the room, a piece of parchment sticking out either side of his balled fist. "I know where she is."

"How the hell—"

Snape shoved the parchment at Ron, who in turn nearly fainted as he read the words. Harry quickly plucked the letter from his best friend's hands, his face growing pale.

_We have your dirty mudblood. Give us Potter by midnight tonight, or she will suffer your cowardice. Come to the Western Woods outside Hogsmeade._

_Yours Truly,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

"That bastard!" Draco cried, an anger rising in him so acute that he thought for sure he would burst. "How—"

"This is _your_ fault!" Ron accused, running at Draco. Harry was able to catch him at the last second, however, and hold him in place. "Let me go! He's behind it!"

"If you think I would even _think_ of harming her then you're even dumber than I thought, Weasley," Draco spat back, a quiver to his voice. Any minute now and his cheeks would be soaked through with salty tears. How was one human being supposed to deal with all this emotion at once!

"What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean!" Harry still held him tight as he thrashed, wanting nothing more than to make Draco pay for what he believed he'd done.

"He loves her," Snape informed the room, crossing his arms over his chest. He couldn't have looked more disgusted.

Without meaning to, Harry's fingers loosened and Ron bolted at Draco, knocking him to the floor with one powerful blow. He hooked him in the side of the face, then pounded hard on his nose, the blood gushing red and thick and getting everywhere. Draco did what he could to block Ron's furious punches, but never raised a hand against him. He had every right to be this angry, to hit him.

Finally, Tonks was able to step in (for Harry seemed frozen with anger) and pry the boys apart. She dragged Draco across the room, and Harry snapped out of his trance and took hold of Ron again.

"Who the fuck do you think you are!" Ron screamed, wrenching to get free again. "You don't deserve her! How dare you even _think_ you could have her!"

"Beating the shit out of me isn't going to get her back, Weasley!" Draco countered, his mouth full of blood. And he swore he felt one of his back teeth missing. "She's alone and unprotected in the forest with the deadliest group imaginable! For all we know she's already dead and all you can do is blame me for something I can't control!"

"She's not dead!"

"Voldemort wants Harry, but we all know that Hermione would _never_ agree to that," Draco said, trying to calm his raging heart.

"Don't you dare act like you know a thing about her!"

"Fuck Weasley! Listen to me! I'm trying to tell you that _I_ will surrender to Voldemort! I'll go in her place! No matter what you win! You'll have her back and I'll be gone!"

The silence struck the room so violently it took their breath away.

"She could never love you," Ron hissed.

"You think I don't know that? Now do you agree or not?"

* * *

Hermione had lost the feeling in her legs hours ago, her arms chaffed and raw from the magic-enhanced rope that bound her to the tree. Her cloak had been torn away and so the only source of warmth was the blazing campfire several yards away that the Death Eaters were congregated around. She had yet to see Voldemort, but she wasn't holding her breath. She was still wondering why she hadn't been killed yet.

"It's nearly midnight," came Lucius's soft, course voice in her ear. She wrinkled her nose and looked away.

"And what happens at midnight?" she mocked, only a fraction scared as she should have been. "Are we having a party?"

"How dare you talk to me that way!" He raised his hand to slap her, when a tall blonde woman stepped into view, grasping his arm at the wrist.

"The Dark Lord wants her alive, Lucius." Her hand slid from his wrist to his back, and she led him away and back towards the fire. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. If she was going to die tonight, then the last person she wanted to see before hand was Lucius Malfoy or his sniveling wife. She no longer associated them with their son, for Draco had certainly proven himself to her, if not the others. He was nothing like his parents.

_They must have noticed I was gone by now_, she thought, peering into the pitch-dark trees. She didn't doubt that they would come for her, but how were they to know where she was? No matter how much she wanted to believe that they could rescue her in time, as the darkness grew fouler, so did her hopes.

She wasn't angry, only sad. There was so much she had left to experience in her life. How tragic that she should have to die so young and so untried. Never would she know the feeling of being a mother, or a grandmother. Or even a wife. She wasn't even an adult yet!

"Save me," she whispered, her words turning to steam in the biting air.

Her thoughts turned to Draco and their last meeting together. If she had any regret left, it was certainly gone now. She was happy that she'd grown fond of him, and even the way he looked at her, that smoky emotion lurking beyond his somber gray eyes. But most of all she was happy that she was able to give him that willing kiss before she died. After all he'd been through, he deserved that much. It takes a great deal of courage to tell someone you've been enemies with for as long as you've known them that you have feelings for them. She couldn't deny it now, tied to this tree like a storybook witch, that she had some feelings for Draco. Attraction mostly, but a good amount of compassion, and even love. It was almost the way she felt about Harry; in between him and Ron. And if she somehow made it out of here alive then one of the first things she was going to do was tell everyone that she and Draco were friends, no matter what they thought of her for it.

"Hermione!"

Her heart seized up at the familiar voice. She dared not move her head, even an inch, to suggest that anything was amiss.

It was Harry, but she knew he wasn't the only one. Ron would definitely be there, as would Draco. She would bet on her life that Snape wouldn't be caught dead rescuing her, and Tonks simply wasn't fit to be out on such a dangerous task.

A moment later and his icy hands were on her face, and he was whispering to her. She tried to concentrate on his words, but all her senses were focused on her fear. She couldn't live with herself if her friends were hurt, or died, trying to save her life. If they were caught—

"Leave!" she whispered frantically, her eyes darting to the fire. No one seemed the wiser. Yet.

"Are you mad?" Harry shot back, and he tugged violently at the ropes. But no amount of strength could so much as loosen them.

"If they find you—"

"We're supposed to find him."

Hermione's eyes bulged at the sound of Lucius's voice. He appeared at her side as though he Apparated, followed by his wife and several other Death Eaters. Voldemort was still nowhere to be seen.

"I wrote your little hero a message, mudblood. He is to surrender himself to us, and only then will you be free to go."

"And you agreed to this!" Hermione stammered.

"What else can we do?" Harry cried, still pulling at the rope.

"You could have listened to me!"

Hermione's eyes shifted as another figure joined the circle around her tree. If she hadn't recognized the voice, then the blinding white-blond hair with the flames blazing behind it would have given him away.

"Take me," Draco said, piercing his father with his gaze.

"NO!" Hermione shrieked, kicking her legs wildly. "All of you stop it! I'm won't let _any _of you take my place!"

"How noble," Lucius yawned. "But, my son, what would we want with a tyrant coward like yourself? You're more useless to us alive than you are dead."

"Lucius!" Narcissa cried, glaring at her husband. "He is still our son. He's been poisoned by them in some way. He doesn't know what he's doing! Let him come with us, Lucius. We can change him back."

"Change back! Narcissa, are you blind! This weakling you call a son has _never_ been who he should. Even when he played the part he was fumbling and weak. No Narcissa, he is not a fair trade with Potter."

"What about me?" came a coarse voice from the dense trees. Everyone's attention turned to the shadowed space, waiting for the person to reveal themselves. And, when they did, Hermione could not help but cry out in complete shock.

"You?" laughed Bellatrix. "What would we want with you, Severus? You've already betrayed us once."

"I betrayed nothing," Snape said with ease, motioning to Narcissa. "As you very well know, Bellatrix, I did what I did as part of our Unbreakable Vow. You were our Bonder, or did that little fact escape your mind?"

"It's irrelevant! Lucius! Do not make a deal with this traitor. He is useless to us."

"Close that mouth of yours, Bella. I'm thinking."

Before he could come to a conclusion, however, there was a flash of green light and Lucius Malfoy went crashing to the ground. Dead.

Narcissa let out a piteous scream, falling to her husband's side.

Harry was already casting the counter spell for the ropes, his full concentration on the rescue.

Ron held her hand, assuring her that everything would be fine, that he was here for her now.

Snape stood, indifferent, his arms crossed over his chest.

And Draco, Draco held his arm out, shaking from head to toe with the realization of what he'd done. He'd killed his father. He'd saved Hermione.

"Draco!" Narcissa cried, running at him. "How could you! He's your father!"

"Correction, mother," he sneered, shoving her away. "He _was_ my father."

"Draco! Hurry!" Hermione grabbed his arm, yanking him along with the rest of them. The Death Eaters swarmed after them, but a quick and brilliant concealment charm saved them.

When they were sure the coast was clear, the group made their way silently back to Headquarters. No one knew what to say. Both Harry and Draco had been so determined and willing to give themselves up for Hermione. Snape had offered as well, though no one pretended to understand why. And Draco had killed his father in the blink of an eye, distracting the Death Eaters and saving them all.

They reached the hidden house at dawn, slipping through the front door and to their respective rooms without a word.

Ron, understandably, went with Hermione to her room. After tonight, he wasn't about to let her out of sight.

"Ron, I'm fine," Hermione repeated for the tenth time since they'd gone to bed.

"Why do you have to scare me like that, 'Mione? We could have lost you tonight."

"Well, it would give you and Harry more time to talk about Quidditch."

"Hermione!"

"Sorry," she sighed. "I don't know why I said that. It's just…Ron, how would you feel if it were Harry, instead of me, that was captured? What if Harry were going to die?"

"What do you mean?" He frowned, unsure of why she would ask him such a thing.

"How would you feel if you believed Harry was going to die?"

"I'd feel the same as I felt tonight," he said easily. "How else should I feel?"

"Me too," she whispered, and he noticed something close to tears in her eyes.

"Hermione, what's wrong?"

"I don't know," she cried into her hands. "Ron, I don't think I can…I can be with you anymore."

"What? Why?" He grabbed her hands, but she pulled away and climbed out of bed.

"I don't know Ron! I don't know why, but I…I don't think I love you that way…I didn't see you rescuing me."

"Who did you see?" he snapped a bit more harshly than he meant to.

"Not you," she said softly, true pain in her eyes and voice, and in her heart.

"Malfoy?"

"Draco and I are only friends, Ron."

"He's in love with you, you know." And he couldn't have said it more bitterly. How could he go from being on top of the world to being at the bottom of a cold, dark pit in one fluid motion? And how could Hermione not love him like that, after all those years at Hogwarts?

"No I don't know." And she was telling the truth completely. She didn't know. "But that wouldn't make a difference. Draco isn't the reason I'm doing this, Ron."

"Then what is?"

"I already told you!"

"You didn't tell me why."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Oh, you really side-stepped that," he snorted. "I think I have a right to know."

"Ron, please—"

"Hermione!"

She sighed painfully, and looked at the ground. This was the hardest thing she'd ever have to say. Yet, oddly enough, she felt somewhat at ease, because she knew in her heart that this was the right thing to do.

"I don't love you," she said, "because you were too late. I loved you for six years, Ron, but you took too long to love me!"

"I always loved you!" he cried, and scrambled out of bed to hold her.

"But you never told me," she whispered, tears making tracks down her face as Ron hugged her fiercely. "I'm sorry Ron, but I stopped loving you before I realized it. I can't be with you."

His arms went limp and she stepped back towards the door.

"You don't know how sorry I am, Ron. I wanted us to be together so badly for so long. I still can't believe I'm the one doing this."

"Neither can I."

It took her ten minutes to walk downstairs to the living room, her thoughts were so jumbled and her feet as lagging as her mind. She didn't know where that strength had come from, or even the realization that she didn't love him any more, but the more she thought about it the more she knew it was right, and that, eventually, he would come around.

"I heard everything."

"What are you doing here, Draco?" she sighed. She just wanted to be alone. And the last thing she wanted was to be hit on right away.

"Giving you something I should have given you from day one."

Hermione immediately tensed up and stepped back, thinking he was going to try to kiss her. Instead, however, he handed her a rolled up piece of parchment and walked quietly back to his room, leaving her to read it by herself.

Slowly she uncurled the note, fresh tears staining her cheeks with every line she read:

_I hate my father._

_I hate the Dark Lord._

_I hate the people who would never give me a chance._

_I hate that I'm supposed to follow in everyone's footsteps instead of making my own._

_I hate image and blood and the power they have over me._

_I hate that I'm afraid to die, but only because I haven't had a chance to make right my wrongs._

_I hate how cruel I have been to impress my father and the Dark Lord._

_I hate my life._

_I hate the trials I am about to endure because I know I will fail._

_I hate this quill because it's old and doesn't write well._

_I hate having a soul that feels._

_I hate myself._

_And I love Hermione Granger._

She tucked the note safely in her robe pocket, then settled on the sofa. And the last thought through her mind as she fell asleep was whether or not she should confront Draco or leave things as they were.

"What do _I_ want?" she whispered, allowing sleep to envelope her.

* * *

I'm sooooooooooooooooooooooo sorry that chapter took so long to get finished, but I have been so unbelievably busy it's not funny. I finally had some time and I figured out how I wanted this chapter to end. I hope it was worth the wait.

REVIEW to see what happens next!


	12. There's A Reason For Everything

Recap:

She tucked the note safely in her robe pocket, then settled on the sofa. And the last thought through her mind as she fell asleep was whether or not she should confront Draco or leave things as they were.

"What do _I_ want?" she whispered, allowing sleep to envelope her.

* * *

Chapter 12: There's A Reason For Everything

The following morning, Hermione awoke to the sound of footsteps in the hall. She sat up, confused for a moment that she was on the couch in the living room instead of her own bed, when she remembered the night before and flopped back down, her right hand unconsciously falling over her eyes. She could have easily fallen back to sleep, her body still worn and exhausted from her capture and the stress she'd endured, if not for the figure that stood over her, making it impossible.

"Yes?" she murmured, the image of a howling teapot in her mind. She was so thirsty, which caused her to think of food. Her stomach respond with an abrupt growl and she moved her hand, nearly choking on her spit when she saw who had wanted her attention. "What do _you_ want?"

"You never would have dared speak to me that way when I was your professor," Snape snarled, but stood his ground.

Hermione yawned as she slowly sat up, making sure not to take her eyes off Snape. He had, after all, killed Dumbledore, and no matter the circumstances it was under, he was still the one responsible. She wasn't even sure if she believed his half-brained tale. Draco's story was confirmed by Harry, who had been there at the grave moment. But Snape's? If it were true, no one was ever going to know now.

"That's true," she agreed without hesitation. "But then I didn't know you were a murderer. Things change. So I'll ask you again: what do you want?"

Snape closed his eyes briefly, his breathing slower. He scrunched and un-scrunched his fists at his sides. Hermione could almost see the gears working in his head. What was he up to?

"Well?"

His eyes snapped open and he made a gesture to leave the room, when some unknown force called him back and he leveled his gaze with her.

"No one can be sure of the damage you sustained from being in captivity," he began, as if she was a wild animal and he was explaining this same fact to her. It made her want to get up and leave the room without hearing what he clearly thought was important. Sheer curiosity was the only thing that caused her to remain. "Tonks will perform the necessary tests to be sure of your health, and anything that she is unable to carry out due to her…state, I will."

"What…are you saying?"

He bit his lip, saying nothing.

"I might not be alright?" she rephrased herself. But she felt fine! A little tired, but otherwise good as new.

"There is always such a possibility when in the company of the Dark Lord."

"Yeah," she sighed. "He's not quite the best host."

"If you're quite through making jokes, then Tonks is waiting for you upstairs."

Hermione stood up, but didn't make for the door right away. There was something wrong, something else that he wanted to say. And though she tried to convince herself that she didn't give a Knut what he thought, she found her feet uncooperative, her legs like cement.

"Yes?" he said through his teeth.

"Whatever it is, say it. I think we're past the point of holding back." And for added measure, she added, "Professor."

"You think I hate you because you're a Gryffindor and a muggle-born," he said very much to the point. Hermione had to reassess her situation, giving Snape the once over to be sure that it was really him standing before her. This was certainly not what she'd had in mind. An insult perhaps, but a confession? Had Celeste put some sort of..._nice_ spell on him? The thought was damn near laughable—this was nowhere near nice.

"I used to," she found herself answering before she knew she'd thought it. "Until we figured out your father was a muggle, and as much as I hate to admit it, I don't think you're _that_ much like Voldemort."

The light in the room must have changed, because after she said this, Snape's face almost appeared to soften. He was still scowling, still piercing her with his ink-black eyes, but a certain degree of malice had been lost.

"Now I don't know what to think," she added, and that was one hundred percent the truth. She'd found out not too long ago why Draco had tormented her for years. Snape's reason wasn't the same, she was sure of that. But could it also be as simple?

"You're wrong," he said with a smirk, and it took all of Hermione's self-control to not hex his face off. "At least partly." And his face returned to his cold hardness, his voice back to monotone, back to normal. This, somehow, gave her relief and she didn't have to force herself as much to listen to what he said next. "That's what I always told myself, and it's the same thing I told myself about…Lily." For a moment Hermione had lost him. Who was Lily? But just as quickly, her confusion left her. Of course. Harry's mother. She hadn't heard about her in so long that the name was foreign, especially coming out of Snape's foul mouth. "Only it was actually true for Lily…Well, true then."

"And for me?" she asked boldly. Her curiosity had turned to discomfort somewhere during the conversation, and she wanted nothing more than to be free of his presence.

But this was one question she wasn't going to get him to answer. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest, appearing taller and meaner. And then he said the last thing she expected to hear:

"You're too weak right now, and will be too busy in the next few days, to finish the Time-Turner. So I will."

He was gone before she could fathom what had just happened.

After going up to find Tonks fast asleep, ten minutes later Hermione sat, cozy, in the kitchen, a steaming mug of tea in her hands, its warmth rising up under her face. It could have been such a relaxing moment, if not for what had happened. What had Snape been trying to get at with all that talk about reasons for hating her and Harry's mom? She could sort of understand his feelings towards Lily, having only been a teenager in the midst of confusion. But he'd been an adult, he'd already left the side of evil, when Hermione came to Hogwarts. She hadn't done a thing to him, except be herself. And he'd admitted that he "always told himself" he hated her because she was muggle-born, but then why turn around and say that wasn't true? It was very obvious that the point of his saying such things was not to make her think that he _didn't_ hate her. She was absolutely positive that he hated her as strongly as ever. No, the point he was trying (and failed) to make was his _reason_ for hating her.

_But what does it have to do with Harry's mom_? she thought glumly, and took a rather unladylike gulp of her tea. Tea that, not a second later, was plastered across the table before her. "It's because I remind him of Lily," she said slowly, in a whisper, completely confident that she was right.

And she'd been right about something else too. His reason for hating her had been as simple, and as stupid, as Draco's.

* * *

That evening at dinner there was little to no talk amongst the occupants of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Snape never talked; Tonks nearly fell asleep several times, sometimes mid-bite; Harry was busy with Ginny, who couldn't have wanted to eat less; Ron still wasn't talking to her; and Draco, Hermione couldn't bring herself to look him in the eye since last night.

She and Harry cleared the table in silence, while Ron looked after his sister. Tonks had gone up to bed early, promising Hermione to look her over in the morning, and Draco and Snape had disappeared the instant their plates were clean. Snape was no doubt in his room working on the Time-Turner. So that meant Draco was unaccounted for—Hermione had a pit in her stomach the entire time she washed and dried the dishes.

"Hermione."

She looked up and gave Harry the best smile she could muster. They were the only two left in the kitchen now, though she hadn't noticed Ron and Ginny leave.

"Are you alright?"

"As much as any of us can be," she answered honestly. "Why?"

"You know exactly why," but no matter how he tried, he couldn't bring himself to speak to her in the tone he'd played over in his head since Ron told him what happened. "Ron thinks there's something going on between you and…" He didn't finish.

"Me and Draco?"

Harry winced at her use of his first name. She ignored this, biting her tongue in restraint.

"Harry." She reached over and lifted his chin. "Now I know your shoes aren't so fascinating that you can't look at me."

"It's not true, Hermione, is it?" The pain on his face was so powerful, so perfectly clear, that she almost couldn't make her mouth function to answer.

"What Ron thinks and what's the truth are two different things, Harry." She could literally feel the tension leaving him. "Ron thinks me and Draco are together, but I can understand why he would." She paused, and if this had been a movie it would have made the scene all the more dramatic. "Back at Maddock's, Draco and I came to an agreement. We decided to have a truce."

"What are you saying?"

"Us being enemies wasn't helping our situation. And after he saved me…well, I couldn't hate him anymore."

"There's another reason too though, isn't there?" And his voice was so accusatory Hermione found her face growing hot. "He loves you and you feel sorry for him."

"Yes," she said, barely moving her lips. "He does, and that's part of it. But I didn't even know that for sure until last night."

"_What happened last night_?" he asked, his eyes so wide they reminded Hermione of two great emerald pendants. He was looking at her with disbelief, pleading with her silently to tell him that what he was thinking wasn't true. And she had nothing to be guilty about—except hurting Ron's feelings—so then why was it so hard for her to keep from turning her head? A knot twisted in her gut, impossible to disregard.

"Nothing!" she stammered out, which was not at all true. "I mean I…Draco overheard me telling Ron I didn't want to be with him anymore. He'd been trying—_unsuccessfully_—to…kiss me." She mumbled the last two words, jamming them together, making it impossible to understand.

But Harry had heard perfectly clear.

"Hetoldmehehearditallandthathehadtogivemesomething," she breathed out in one word.

"Excuse me?" he said, the picture of calm. She would have much rather been on the losing end of a raging argument.

"He told me…he heard everything and that…that he had to give me something." She lowered her eyes, ashamed, but for the life of her couldn't figure why. Taking a deep breath, she regained her composure and continued. "I thought he was going to try to kiss me again, so I backed up. He gave me a note instead."

"Where is it?" he asked, fully expecting her to produce it. And he was right. Uncurling the note, he read, line by line, Draco's self-confession. Wrinkling his nose, he handed it back to Hermione. "What did you say to him?"

"Don't play games with me, Harry Potter!" Suddenly she was so angry with his prying that she didn't know how to handle herself. "_This_," she hissed, brandishing the worn down piece of parchment in his face, "is my life! _Mine_. I make my own choices, I decide what I will and will not do. I'm considerate of you and Ron and everyone else when I make my decisions, but I don't have to tell you anything if I don't want to. But right now you damn well better tell me what the hell you think it is that I'm hiding from you, because I won't have you not trusting me. I am a good friend!" she yelled, and poked him in the chest so hard that he actually flinched. "I am a damn good friend, Harry Potter! Now I love you, and you're a great friend, but at the moment I want to hit you so hard." She was clenching her teeth so much that it was actually painful.

Harry threw caution to the wind and pulled Hermione to him, stroking the back of her head.

"I love you too, 'Mione," he sighed. "It's just…I hate the thought of Draco taking advantage of you. He doesn't deserve you."

"I don't have feelings for him, Harry," she whispered into his chest. "But he is a good person underneath everything. I believe that much. I _know_ that much."

"So," he said carefully, keeping a firmly, yet gentle, hold on her. "You never answered my question."

"What question?"

"What did you say to him when he gave you the note?"

Hermione took a step back, wiping her eyes where there were no tears.

"Nothing. Not then, not now. I haven't even looked at him. I'm sort of…scared."

"Of Malfoy?"

"No," she said, shaking her head, the burden of the past months weighing down on her so much that she actually felt heavier. "Not Draco himself."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm afraid I'm going to hurt him too. Harry—" She crushed herself against him again, clinging to the front of his shirt. "—so many people are hurting right now. Everything that's happened…I just can't be the cause of anymore."

"I'm sorry I doubted you," he forced himself to say, though he wasn't entirely sure that he actually was. "You're a better friend than even you know."

"Now you're just trying to make up for your mistake."

"Maybe," he laughed. "Look. I should go take Ginny off Ron's hands. I'll see you tomorrow, alright?"

"That's if I survive whatever Tonks does to me."

"And about Ron—"

"Don't worry. I'll try to talk to him, and if he doesn't want to, then I'll back off."

"Thanks," he said, heading out of the room.

"No problem. And Harry." She smacked her lips together in thought; a nervous habit. "Ginny's going to be fine. If not here, then when we get back, she'll be just the way you left her."

"I know, but no matter where we are, I still love her. Good night Hermione."

"Night."

* * *

For over an hour she had been standing outside Ron's room, her hand reaching then contracting from the doorknob. She wanted to go in, to apologize (though for what she didn't know) and make everything better. She wanted her old friendship with him back, the way she and him and Harry used to be before things got so complicated—which of course had nothing to do with magic and war, but everything to do with love, heartache, and fear. She knew she loved him once, and passionately, her blood pumping ten times faster every time he entered a room or looked her directly in the eye. Hell, every time she thought about him for longer than a moment. She had been so sure that her life without him as her boyfriend, and eventually husband, was no life at all. Every morning she wanted to wake up next to him after every night having fallen asleep next to him.

But then he wanted her, too, and then slowly the fire burned out. Or maybe it had been gone long before they started dating. Maybe she never noticed, because she was so sure of what she wanted that if she unexpectedly wanted something else then it must be wrong.

That didn't, however, help her situation now. Sure she wanted to know why she no longer loved Ron in that way, but the problem at hand was what _he_ was feeling, not her. He was hurting because of her actions and it was up to her—either by talking to him or staying away—to make him better.

Just what was one supposed to say to someone after they've broken their heart? Which brought her to another point—how long should one wait to approach the other? If it had been her on the receiving end, how long would she want to go without talking to Ron? So the question now wasn't what she was going to say, but if she was going to say anything at all. And it was answered for her by the sound of an opening door.

"What are you doing out here?"

For a brief instant she entertained the idea of bolting down the hall and into her room, then opened her mouth, taking considerable time to say one simple word.

"Hey."

"I…I'm having some…trouble," he squeezed out, averting his eyes instantaneously.

"With what?" she asked too quickly to realize that she knew the answer.

"The Time-Turner," Snape replied stoically, his eyes narrowing in near suspicion. "Are you feeling well, Miss Granger?" There was nothing caring or munificent about his inquiry. In fact, he'd asked her in such a rude manner that she didn't want to answer. "You're sweating like a pig." He took a step closer, some of the light from his room falling over her face. "And your eyes, they're glazed over. Are you feeling nauseous?"

"No." But she was, and had been all evening.

"That's good," he groaned sarcastically. "Now if you die it won't be on my head."

Her breath caught in her throat to the point where she actually let out a gasp.

"Ex-excuse me?"

"You're sick, Granger. Someone gave you something or put a spell on you that you weren't aware of." Though his voice was so cool and indifferent, something about what he was saying made her feel better. Even after what he said next: "If I don't check you over right now, you will die."

"What about the Time-Turner?" She didn't even know where that came from.

He tensed every muscle in his body to keep from rolling his eyes and turning his back on her.

"After I help you," he said through his teeth, "you'll help me. Now hurry up, unless you want me falling asleep and causing more damage."

"Professor?" she called after him, as he had already turned to go back into his room.

"What?" He didn't even stop, and so she followed him, somehow not surprised at the cleanliness of his room. For so long she and her friends had thought of him as dirty, someone they would never going willingly into a room alone with. But that was so far in the past, back when things like that mattered.

"Thank you. I know that doesn't mean much or that you like me now or that things will change. But it does mean one thing."

"And what's that?" He was getting so tired of this. Maybe he should just let her die, though, in truth, he honestly didn't think she was in that bad of shape. If she went untreated then there was a possibility. As things stood right now, she was fine, aside from a fever and an upset stomach. "Please, I'm _dying_ to know."

"That you love Celeste."

He was caught so completely off guard that for a moment he actually looked like a normal person, feelings and all.

"Which also means that you _can_ care about other people. I'm not one of them. Harry's not one of them. No one in this house even comes close. But Celeste," she said as she lowered herself onto his desk chair. "She is, and I think I know why you are actually trying to be a decent person all of a sudden."

"Go ahead, Granger. Educate me. I'm no professor."

"That's just more proof," she laughed, and then she smiled, not at all embarrassed that Snape was the cause of it. "Sarcasm. The Professor Snape I know doesn't try to make anyone, not even himself, laugh. You're changing, and you're doing it on purpose. It has a lot to do with Celeste, but more with your guilt. You're trying to make things right."

"Do you want my help or not?" he seethed.

"Yes, of course I do. But you said yourself that you also wanted mine."

"I didn't mean—"

"Look, I know what you're planning to do," she said firmly.

He didn't even bother asking or telling her that he didn't give a damn. She was going to say it anyway, making him regret offering her help even more.

"Once we're back in our time, whether the war is over or not, you're going back to her."

"That's preposterous! I wouldn't let her come with us, so why the hell would I go back there? Time travel is not something to play around with."

"That doesn't mean you won't do it," she said confidently.

"One more word and you die." Meaning, of course, that he wouldn't treat her.

She nodded, turning her head away so he didn't see her smile again. This was too much! Snape following the love of his life back in time? She was right, she knew she was, and he was hot under the collar, practically begging her to shut up. And although she was happy for him, in a twisted hopes-he-loses-a-limb-when-he-goes-back sort of way, she couldn't help but feel triumphant that she was finally able to make him nervous and miserable the way he always had with her.

"By the way."

"Hmm?" which technically wasn't a word.

"Draco and Weasley left the house together not too long ago."

She couldn't have said anything, even if there were words she wanted to say. Her air passage seized up and she slumped over onto the desk.

"That was cruel," came a voice from the doorway. Tonks walked in, her arms crossed in such a way that her wand poked out, reaching against her stomach.

"How else was I supposed to get her unconscious without a spell? You know as well as I do that she needs to be asleep for the most difficult of the tests."

"It's a good thing you're neither a Healer nor an Auror."

"Aren't you acting a bit too sane?"

"If what Hermione said was right, then if you ever lose this Celeste woman then you'll know how I feel."

"I couldn't use a sleeping spell on her, but there's nothing wrong with you," he threatened.

"Fine, I'll stop. Just tell me one thing."

He didn't respond.

"If you were bluffing about Ron and Draco, then where are they?"

"Who said I was bluffing?"

* * *

Let's just say that my updating will be very unpredictable, no matter my workload or how busy I am. Sometimes I say I won't update in a week and then I end up putting up two new chapters the next day. So when I update, I update. I'm not going to guess anymore. It's just silly :P

REVIEW so I can continue this story :)

P.S. I know a lot of weird things happened, but there is more going on in the story than Hermione and Draco. Maybe not as central to the plot, but they're still important enough to mention and take care of. That's what this chapter was about.


	13. A Quiet Stroll Through Hell

Recap:

"If you were bluffing about Ron and Draco, then where are they?"

"Who said I was bluffing?"

* * *

Chapter 13: A Quiet Stroll Through Hell

Hermione eyed herself in the mirror carefully, almost afraid of who was looking back at her: sallow eyes, sharp cheekbones, mussed and stringy hair. Was this how her life was going to be from now on? Running and hiding and searching for answers to unanswerable questions? To be fair, she was neither running nor hiding, only waiting. Had she the choice, at this very moment, she would be on the battlefield, right where Voldemort had sent them back in time, fighting to the death. And that's when she realized something profound. She was eighteen-years-old, yet living the life of someone twice her age. She had grown-up, without her awareness, in intelligence and experience. But it was this comprehension, this knowledge that she was no longer a child, that made her see that as long as she _knew_ this she would never _truly_ grow up.

Once, when she was maybe six or seven, Hermione ran screaming and crying to her mother, vowing that she never wanted to get older and have to leave her family. How silly she had been then, but how honest with herself. True, she was naïve and didn't know becoming older was a great and natural part of life. But to be that honest again? If she were _really _honest with herself right now, then she would be no where near this mirror, showing both truth and lies; mocking her. She would be trying to work things out with those who surrounded her; Ron, Harry, Draco, even Snape. And the honesty part came not in confronting them and giving it her best shot, but in telling them exactly what she was thinking, how she felt, and asking them to do the same, no matter how much the truth could and would hurt.

It was early morning, perhaps five a.m. Hermione had awoke on the sofa in the living room not ten minutes before, vaguely recalling being in Snape's room. Instantly she was on her feet, the memory that Ron and Draco were not in the house at the forefront of her mind. She had been about to go tearing down the halls and demand to know what happened, when the front door opened, as if on her command, and in walked Ron, followed laggardly by Draco, and at last Snape. How long had she been out? But none of them had noticed her, or acknowledged her if they did, and went silently upstairs to their separate rooms.

So Snape had been telling the truth, she mused, taking her eyes off her reflection to instead stare at her vein-woven hands. Ron and Draco had gone outside together, though why she couldn't in her wildest fantasies imagine, and Snape had joined them (though he could have simply gone to collect them) and now they were back. She hadn't even entertained the idea of going after any one of them before hurrying off to the bathroom.

She ran the tap until the sink was full of icy water. It was numbing to her fingertips as she tested the temperature. Then she plunged her entire head in.

She wanted to die. To curl up, her arms clutched around her scrunched up knees, and die.

It wasn't like her, brave Gryffindor Hermione Granger, to wish for such things—especially after her revelation about eternal childhood. But even children have fears and doubts and just want everything to go away sometimes. And that's how she was acting, wasn't it? Childish.

When she breathed, her face dripping, tight, and red, her lungs felt as if they would shatter within her. She knew what she had to do, but how and when she didn't know. Ron would need his space undoubtedly, and it would be wise of her to let him make the first move. Yet the more she thought about it, the more approaching him seemed like the right thing. After all, then he would know she still cared, he would have that. Draco, on the other hand, was surprisingly the easier of the two to decide upon, but the hardest with which to deal with. She knew Ron, inside and out. But Draco; she'd only barely begun to meet him and didn't know his limits. She would go to him, that much was certain, but from there—it was anyone's guess.

"I hate you," she seethed at her morbid reflection, wanted to tear down the mirror and smash it into thousands of pieces until it was sand. "I hate you!" And then she did break something; a solitary glass on the counter. A small, lonely line of warm blood trickled out the wound and dropped—plop, plop, plop—into the still-filled sink. Without a thought in her head, she reached in and pulled the plug, watching with muted satisfaction as the water and blood swirled down the drain.

Ignoring her minor cut, Hermione rummaged through a drawer beside her until she found what she'd been looking for: a pair of scissors. She cursed her mirror self with a few choice words she would never let another human being hear her say, then did the last thing she thought she would ever do. Raising the scissors, high beside her head, she sliced off more than six inches of her wild, brown locks. For her entire life she'd had long, unmanageable hair. She feared cutting it past a certain point because it would only frizz out more. But tonight she'd had enough with being afraid, even of something as silly as a haircut. With each snip she felt revived, her hair cascading to the floor in chunks and wisps.

Fifteen minutes later, because she had to even it all out, and Hermione looked like a completely different person. Her hair now barely rested on the tops of her shoulders, a drastic changed from having reached her elbows only moments before. She had expected it would fly out, unrestrained from her head, making her look ridiculous. Instead, however, it hung softly and actually looked quite nice. She deduced that it made her look older, but there was something else too she couldn't quite pick out.

And then it hit her. She looked lighter! Not physically, of course, but in spirit, as if her hair had been the only thing weighing her down.

"Fine," she sighed, and smiled, unconvincing even to herself. "I don't _hate_ you. But I don't like you right now either."

Before she completely lost her nerve—or completely went crazy, as she was beginning to feel, talking to herself in the mirror—Hermione made her decision. She was going to talk to Draco.

* * *

"Did you lose a bet?" were the first words out of his mouth as he slowly opened the door. She actually felt her arm raise a hair as if to slap him, but controlled herself and walked in without being invited. "Come in," he mocked, then shut the door behind her.

_How like him_, she thought angrily, _to act like nothing happened. Like he didn't just tell me he _loved_ me. Prick._

"Seriously, what's with the hair?"

"I cut it," she sighed, giving a wave of her injured hand, which she'd forgotten about until just now. Unfortunately, Draco noticed immediately and grabbed her wrist with unexpected gentleness. "That too," she added as a side note.

"Wh—"

"Not on purpose, you git. I accidentally broke a glass. The haircut was on impulse. Just—" She wrenched her arm free and stepped back. "I came here for a reason Draco. My hand is fine. Forget about it. Just listen to me, ok? I don't know what the hell I'm going to say in the next few minutes, but hear me out anyway. I probably won't make sense, much like I'm doing right now, but I'm so damn _confused_ that I don't know how to right myself."

"Have you talked to Weasley yet?"

"About what?" she sighed, not even bothering to remind him that she'd just asked him to listen, therefore not talk.

"Well for starters, the fact that you two love birds aren't together. If you had bothered to look at me today, you'd have known I've been watching you, and you and him haven't said a word to each other."

"What do you care anyway? Wouldn't it be better for you if I never talked to him again?" she sneered. What was she doing? She hadn't come here to lash out at him. She'd come here to apologize for ignoring him! "You are impossible, you know that?" But she couldn't stop herself. Not now. Not once the words were flowing so rapidly, so easily, as if she'd meant to say them all along. "Why did you have to give me that note! Everything was fine the way it was! I might not have been happy, but I knew what was up and what was down. And now _Snape_ is giving me heart-to-hearts and taking care of me? WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!"

"You're damn lucky I have a Silencing Charm on this room," Draco said under his breath. "Really. Listen to yourself. Why don't you come back when you've put yourself back together?"

"If you _loved_ me so damn much you'd take me as I was."

"Excuse me? No, you know what?" He reached out so fast she couldn't move away, and had her by the elbow. "Get out." Dragging her to the door, he opened it and pushed her into the hall. "I'm not going to deal with you like this. You show up in my room, your hand cut up and your hair chopped off and you expect me to listen to you as you berate me about something I can't control?" He took a deep, calming breath. "Go to bed. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Don't you dare close that door on me Malfoy!" She was so lost in her own anger—anger she hadn't even known she'd had towards him—that she didn't realize she'd reverted back to his surname, an insult.

"Good night, _Granger_," he said in the lowest, fakest sweet voice he could muster, and shut the door with a soft click.

* * *

Was it _supposed_ to be this hard?

Hermione sat, knees to her chest, on the floor outside Draco's room. She felt like dirt—which was so ironic with all the times he'd called her mudblood—but somehow she knew she was only going to make the same mistake again. No matter how much time she gave herself, or how much she prepared, it was inevitable that she take more jabs at him. Because the truth was, she was furious with him for loving her. A crush was fine, she could live with that, because then she still had leverage. But now? Nothing she could say or do could touch him, and that, more than anything, was why she was so mad. She could scream at him all day, until her voice gave out, and he wouldn't love her any less.

It wasn't fair, she concluded. Draco Malfoy had been her and her friends' sworn enemy since first year. Why all of a sudden was he untouchable just because he actually _felt_? One would think it would make him weaker, having the feelings he did.

She reached into her robe pocket and pulled out the note, wrinkled and soft from having been folded and refolded a hundred times.

She was on her feet before she commanded it, knocking with a balled fist on his door. For a moment she thought he would ignore her and wait until she was "back to normal". But then the door creaked open, just a hair, so she could see one silvery eye looking out at her. He could have slammed the door right then and not bothered to know why she was back. He could have thrown a dozen choice insults her way like nothing. He could have done so many things other than what he did.

He let her in.

"I just want to know one thing," she said defensively, somehow on the other side of the room, her hand on the cold windowsill. Her face burned for an instant, remembering the ice water in the sink. But she'd needed that, to calm her, numb her, let her think.

"I didn't ask," he said with a shrug, then sat on his bed, looking for all the world that he hadn't just thrown her out moments before.

"When did you write this?" She turned on her heel and was standing before him in a matter of milliseconds. He reached up, as if it were instinct, his fingers lightly grazing the parchment. She had thought he was going to take it from her, but then his hand dropped and he let out a sigh of annoyance.

"If I remember correctly," he said finally, running his hand through his hair, "it was about a week before we ambushed you in the woods. But that's not really your question, is it?" He looked up at her, narrowing his eyes.

Hermione said nothing.

"It doesn't matter when I _wrote _it. What you want to know is when I started to _feel_ it. And quite honestly," he grunted, "I don't know. Maybe I was born loving you," he added with a sneer.

She knew this was only payback for earlier, most especially her biting comment about "if he loved her so much". It had been low of her, and it was just as low of him to bring it back up. Though she actually did deserve it.

"Look." He stood and closed the gap between them, his hands up on her face, fingers resting lightly behind her ears. It felt wonderful, to be that close to another, to feel warmth, but at the same time a knife was going through her and she hated, absolutely _hated_, that she didn't step back and leave the room. "I didn't give you that stupid note to fuck everything up. In fact, it was never meant for anyone to see, least of all you."

"It was selfish of you," she ground out. "How long had me and Ron been broken up? A minute? And then you throw this in my face!" Any normal person would have at least stepped away and not let him continue holding her face.

"Merlin, I love your hair like this."

"_Shut up_," she said under her breath.

"It was selfish of me," he said, getting back on track. "But you know what? I don't care. I don't. Not even a little. And you know why?" He didn't pause to let her answer. "Because that's who I am. I'm selfish and arrogant and proud. I love you—" She flinched noticeably. It was the first time he'd said those words to her, those seemingly beautiful and harmless three words. "—and I know you hate it, but _I don't care_. You deserved to know."

"It doesn't change anything," she lied. "We're _friends_ Malfoy, nothing more."

"Do you mind?"

"Sorry…Draco."

"What's the verdict with Snape?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Don't know." She shrugged, feeling his hands move slightly up her face as she did so. "I was unconscious and when I woke up I was in the living room."

He opened his mouth to speak, when she remembered something.

"Draco, what were you and Ron doing outside together?"

His hands dropped to his sides and he sat back down. Had he really thought she wouldn't find out?

She shoved him back onto his elbows and loomed over him, her nostrils flaring.

"If I _deserved_ to know how you feel about me, then I damn well deserve to know this. So I'll ask you again: Why were you and Ron outside together?"

**Flashback:**

"Come on."

Draco stared at his intruder, not even bothering to sit up.

"What do you want, Weasley?"

"Just get up," he groaned, obviously miserable and regretting that he was here. "We're going for a walk."

"You might be," Draco laughed, "but I'm staying right here. I'm not going to walk willingly into an ambush."

"Look, you slimy—" But he stopped himself, took a breath, and continued. "There's no ambush, Malfoy. Harry is with my sister. I only want to…talk."

He eyed him over more than suspiciously, then got up and pulled on his cloak and boots. He didn't know why, but something compelled him to go with Ron, to see what he had to say. There was no doubt he would regret it, but the pull of curiosity was sometimes just too much.

"If this is about Hermione—"

"This is about me and you," Ron hissed, coming to a halt outside the front door. "Yes, she's in there somewhere, because how could she not be? But essentially, it's me and you. If you would just shut up and listen, and wait a damn minute, then maybe you would have found that out on your own."

It wasn't until Number 12 Grimmauld Place was out of sight that Ron finally spoke, his voice scratched, no doubt from crying over Hermione, yet still firm and determined. He was here for his own reasons, no one was forcing him other than himself. But that didn't mean he had to enjoy it.

"She doesn't love me," he said, and if Draco didn't know any better he'd have thought Ron didn't care. But it was all for show; inside he was dying and for once in his life Draco didn't feel the impulse to goad him about it. "I don't know how she feels about you, and quite frankly I don't give a damn, but me…I lost my chance with her because I waited." He looked up and directly at Draco for the first time. "It didn't matter that she'd loved me for years. I took too long to tell her how I felt, and I'm paying for it. She stopped loving me and left me."

"I thought this didn't have anything to do with her," was all Draco could think to say. Were they not only in a different time, but a different dimension? Who was this person in front of him that looked and sounded like Ron Weasley?

"I said it does and it doesn't. Just shut up and listen. Merlin…"

Draco was silent.

"We're all finding out the hard way that war changed people. Months ago I could have sworn on my family's life that I hated you and that you were evil without remorse. And while I still don't like you, I've come to understand that people _can_ change, no matter how much it screws everything else up. Now I love Hermione," he said softly, and looked away. "I love her so much that no matter how much I _loathe_ it, if you were in fact the one that…made her happy, I would want that for her."

"Are you mad, Weasley? Have you lost your mind?"

Ron glared at him, as if willing his eyes to become daggers and stab Draco in the face.

"She doesn't love me! She barely tolerates me as what she likes to call 'friends', but I hardly see a friendship working out when we're at each other's throats all the time. Just because _I_ have feelings for her, doesn't mean she wants me! Don't get me wrong," he added, forcing himself to not smirk, "I would have her in a heartbeat if she could somehow in a million years feel the same. But she doesn't. So let me repeat myself, and ask: are you mad?"

Ron didn't know how to respond. He'd thought for sure that there was something going on between Hermione and Malfoy. He'd felt it in his gut, burning and eating away at his insides.

"Listen Ron." They were both surprised, maybe Draco even more then Ron himself, at the use of his first name. "I told her exactly how I felt about her and she hasn't so much as looked at me. If she loved me, like you claim, she'd have thrown her arms around me and I wouldn't be standing here right now."

Ron wrinkled his nose as Draco's obvious suggestion.

"She may not love you, Weasley, but she damn well cares about you, and a hell of a lot more than she does about me. That's for damn sure. She's not going near you, because she wants to give you space if you need it. She's not going near me, because she doesn't want to, because she doesn't care, and because she's mad at me for how I feel. She doesn't have to say so for me to know. I can see it, clear as day."

Ron was speechless. He'd brought Draco out here to be selfless, to "give" Hermione to him. He hadn't expected so much as a grunt in return. And certainly not a barrage of his own selflessness.

"Because of one woman," Ron laughed bitterly. "I should hate her for it."

"Yeah," Draco agreed. "Me and you both."

A few minutes later Snape arrived, looking perplexed. They knew he'd seen them leave, so why had he waited so long?

"You're both in one piece." He sounded more disappointed than amazed.

"More or less," Draco said, actually trying not to glare at his former mentor. "What took you so long? I saw you lurking in the halls."

"Granger passed out," he said flatly, enjoying the looks of shock and horror on their faces. "Put your eyes back in your skulls," he grumbled, irritated. "Tonks and I did some tests. I'm brewing a potion for her that'll be ready tomorrow night." They continued to stare at him. "Brainless halfwits," he said under his breath. "She's not going to die. For Merlin's sake."

**End Flashback:**

"Hello! Earth to Draco," Hermione sighed, slapping him a little too roughly on the face to bring him back.

His eyes refocused and he looked up at her.

"Now that you're back from Dracoland, answer me."

"Weasley really loves you," but that wasn't at all what he'd be about to say. Now that it was out there, however, there was no pulling it back. "He…You should go talk to him."

"I'm letting him make the first—"

"Bloody hell Hermione! You wanted an answer, and here it is. He _wants_ you to talk to him."

Her face paled and her legs felt as though they could no longer support her. Draco reached out and grabbed her to sit beside him.

"He didn't say that exactly," he went on, trying to undo his mistake. He'd shocked her. "But I got the gist of it. He thinks you don't care."

"But I—"

"Don't tell me." He held up his hands in more defense and want for her to stop. He didn't need to hear this. It was between them. "Just get up and go to him. When you're done, I'll be here so we can finish this."

"You're really going to let me back in?"

"Of course," he laughed. "I wouldn't miss a chance to see you get yourself flustered and trip of your own words. My feelings towards you might have changed, but that doesn't mean I can't still enjoy your discomfort."

"Bastard," she shot at him, and stood, making for the door.

"I know."

"You better be awake when I come back."

"I will."

"Alright."

"Brilliant."

"Shut up."

He smiled and gave a little chuckle. "Not on your life."

* * *

Wow, I feel like I could write all day. But, alas, it's my last day home before I go back to school, so I should spend some time with my family. Don't worry though, I have some stuff already written out for the next chapter, so it shouldn't take me too long.

REVIEW! Or suffer my wrath :)

P.S. I know Draco was a bit OOC this chapter, but it's only sometimes, because he's still adjusting to things.


	14. The Ghost In Our Hearts

**A/N: Listen people, I have 1716 hits on this story, and yet only 70 reviews for a total of 13 chapters. The last chapter was hit 53 times, and I have zero reviews. If I don't know what people think of my story, _I won't write anymore_.**

Recap:

"Brilliant."

"Shut up."

He smiled and gave a little chuckle. "Not on your life."

* * *

Chapter 14: The Ghost In Our Hearts

"Malfoy told you to come, didn't he?"

Hermione's hand slipped from the doorknob to hang slack and useless at her side. Bile rising in her tightening throat, she came all the way into the room, closing the door behind her. What had really gone on outside between him and Draco, who had been so eager to get her out of the room? She hadn't found out a thing, and there was no way she'd ask Ron.

She wanted to scream so badly, she actually let out a muted, "Uh!"

"What?"

"Nothing," she said quickly. "Ron, are you—Why are you staring at me like that?" She'd been about to ask him if he was alright, when she caught sight of the look on his face.

But he didn't answer, and for the first time since she'd broken up with him, he was within inches of her. Slowly, almost clumsily, he reached up, softly brushing a loose strand of now short, bouncy hair from her forehead.

In her newfound honesty, Hermione found herself not wanting to turn away as he leaned in to kiss her. It was wrong and she knew that, and that was exactly the appeal it had. She'd been so right, so good all her life and where had it taken her? It almost—_almost_—made her see the argument for the dark side.

"Ron," she breathed, the tingle from his warm lips still pulsing through her. How she missed that, when everything had been simple.

"What made you cut your hair?" he asked and kissed her cheek. "I love it."

Why was she turning into a puddle of goo in every man's arms? Six months ago she had no one, and now two guys were in love with her! It was more than a little unnerving.

"Love," she answered, only seeing it was true when she'd spoken.

Ron's face dropped appropriately and he all but stumbled back.

The first thought that popped into Hermione's head was to grab him and kiss him, erase what she'd just said and start over. He'd taken in the wrong way! But for the life of her, she could not make her tongue cooperate.

"I don't love anyone," she blurted out, biting her bottom lip in frustration. Why couldn't what she felt be explained in words!

She then gasped so loud Ron's narrowed brows unknit. Of course! She couldn't express herself because she didn't _know_ how she felt.

"What I mean," she continued, her confidence returning, "was you and Draco, what's been going on. Uh, I was—I still am—so confused. I guess…what I'm trying to say is…I don't know what's happening, but I'm willing to try anything to fix it.

"If you ever fall in love again," he said slowly, his eyes seeing through her, "I hope he loves you back. Do you know how rare that is?" His voice had turned to an acidic laugh. "You loved me, but I didn't make a move. Then we're together, but you don't love me anymore. Malfoy loves you, but you barely want to be his friend. Not that I care, he can rot. The there's Harry and Gin, and Snape and Celeste, and—I just hope it happens for you." But his tone seriously suggested otherwise. In fact, she wondered how close he'd been to doing something other than kiss her before.

"I don't know what else to say. There's no quick answer, Ron."

"That's not what I want." He was so close to yelling. He was mad at her for not loving him, and she was mad at Draco _for_ loving her. The universe was shifting and she was powerless to stop it. "If it took a lifetime for the answer to be that you loved me _I would wait_! Can you ever understand that?" This last question came out in a defeated huff and he collapsed on the bed. "Sleep with me tonight."

Hermione was too shocked to even look shocked. He couldn't have just said—

"Not like that," he laughed, and he reminded her _so much_ of Draco. She wanted to run. "Sleep next to me. I miss you."

"It won't help you get over me," but what she was really thinking was that Draco still expected her. What mattered more? Comforting Ron or—What was waiting for her with Draco? Another fight? More pain? Most definitely.

"I don't want to get over you."

Hermione didn't know what to do, and she did nothing. She closed her eyes and willed all her problems to devour themselves and disappear.

"Hermione?"

She had to make a decision. There had to be a right answer. She was Hermione Granger, for Merlin's sake! She could do this!

"Will you stay?"

* * *

_The night air was deep-winter cold, and yet it was the middle of August, two weeks before the start of Draco's sixth year at Hogwarts. Not that any of that mattered anymore. His mother had been called before the Dark Lord; Voldemort had plans for Draco. She did her best to keep herself under control before leaving the Manor. How long had it been? Two hours? Three?_

_"Draco." His mother's voice filtered through his thoughts and he turned to see her standing in the doorway of his balcony. Was this going to be the last time he saw her? Did he care?_

_He grunted in response, but then immediately straightened up as her sister Bellatrix, haggard and proud, came into view._

_"You're very lucky, you know that?" Bellatrix began, then stepped out onto the balcony and joined him at the railing. She didn't look at him, but Draco wouldn't have noticed either way. He was staring at the woods beyond, wondering how easy it was to get lost among the trees. He wasn't scared, just…unsure. Could he really pull off what Voldemort wanted from him? "To be so young and on the Dark Lord's radar. You should be honored."_

_"I am." He unconsciously puffed up his chest ever so slightly. Who else in Slytherin could say the same as him? He was one in a million._

_"Narcissa." Draco didn't need to look behind him to know that his mother had left. Undoubtedly it was due to her concern; Bellatrix was more suited for these types of things. And if his father hadn't been holed up in Azkaban, then he would be here and not his aunt. "You have two assignments, Draco."_

_"Care you elaborate?" He'd never really liked his mother's sister; she didn't care. She didn't much like her nephew either. In fact, she rather hoped he failed his mission._

_"Kill Dumbledore. Kill Potter's mudblood friend."_

_"What about Weasley?" He would just love to get his hands on the filthy rat._

_"The Dark Lord has no interest in him. Dumbledore's death is essential. The mudblood, well," she yawned, as if very bored at the prospect of the deaths two people opposing her Lord, when everyone knew she might as well drink blood for breakfast. "She's not dumb, magic-wise. It's because of her that Potter has survived this long. Kill them both and you might just be worthy of that Mark on your arm."_

_Draco's hand instinctively went to his left forearm, where he'd been branded with the Dark Mark not two nights ago. It had been painful, but worth it._

_"I suggest you take one at a time," she added, her hand lashing out to squeeze his face. "Mess up and I don't have to tell you it's your life, Draco." Her hand dropped before he had a chance to bat her away; his cheeks were raw, but there was no way he'd let her know that. He did his best to ignore the sting. "Now for the other assignment."_

_His face paled._

_"But I thought—"_

_"Killing them is one," she bit, annoyed. "Pay attention. The second is far more difficult, and no where near as fun." Her lips twitched up into a smirk and she proceeded to explain about the twin Vanishing cabinets; one in Hogwarts and the other conveniently in Borgin and Burkes. Fix the cabinet at Hogwarts, let the Death Eaters in, job done. She said it like it was so simple. "Think your tiny brain can handle it?"_

_"If you weren't a favorite—"_

_"Dearest Draco," she sighed, and this time she wrapped her gnarled fingers around his throat, jerking him forward so her breath was hot on his face. "Your mother is the only thing keeping you alive as it is. But she has no where near the leverage I have, so I'd suggest you nod in agreement and keep that ugly trap of yours shut."_

_"I'll kill them," he wheezed out. "I'll—" Cough. "—fix the damn cabinet. Then what?"_

_She let go and he stumbled back, having to grab the railing not to fall._

_"Then maybe you can have a real assignment," she laughed, tossing her head back. "Let me give you a word of advice, little nephew. When you kill the girl, look her in the eye, _feel_ her death. It's indescribable. If you're truly a Death Eater, truly one of us, you'll love it."_

_"Are we done?" He was unimpressed. Surely killing them wouldn't be that difficult, but he couldn't be as great as she was suggesting. It all sounded rather cumbersome to him. Take a life, fix a cabinet, take a life. Was he a soldier or a repair man?_

_The sharp pain registered before anything else. Before he realized Bellatrix had slapped him across the face. Before he realized she was gone and his mother was back again._

_"Draco?" his mother whispered, placing her hands on his shoulders._

_"Get off me," he hissed, and stormed away. He needed a drink. And then six more._

Draco sat up, a shiver running through him. Why was he having that dream _now_? Of all the times? And what an obscure thing to relive. Surely any one of the moments when he'd stalked Hermione through the halls was more significant than that. If he was guessing right, and the dream had been his subconscious reminding him of his past, then why Bellatrix? Why that night?

He had his feet on the floor, his robe halfway on, when he became conscious it was morning and he'd been asleep. His robe still not fully on, he flew out the door, rounding the corner to Hermione's room. But he wasn't the only one eager for her presence this morning. Ron was standing in his slippers, no robe, outside her door and beating on it as if it had caused him personal distress.

Draco had a flash of his still-lingering dream, when he'd asked if he could kill Ron too. How drastically things had changed since then. He had no desire now to even so much as poke him. Well, maybe not at the moment. Things change. But right now Hermione was his only concern.

_I could have killed her_.

"Have you seen Hermione?" Ron demanded, finally noticing Draco's presence.

"Got me." He shrugged as if it weren't the only reason he was out here. "Last I knew she went to your room and was supposed to come back, and finish with me." He allowed his lip to curl suggestively. Who said he couldn't have fun with this? After all, he wasn't going to get what he wanted.

"You fucking arrogant—"

"Ron?"

They both turned at the sound of Harry's voice, the next door over.

"Malfoy? What are you two doing? It's six in the morning. Go back to bed."

Harry was about to close his door and do just that, when Ron and Draco both erupted into fiery explanations and accusations. So much for the would-be truce they silently made last night.

"Wait, one at a time," Harry hissed, and stepped into the hall. "And be quiet. There are people sleeping in there." He shut his door and motioned for Ron to continue.

"Big surprise," Draco muttered to himself.

Only Ron didn't repeat himself or explain further.

"Who's in your room, Harry?"

"Gin and Hermione. And they're asleep, like I said before."

"That's what we're doing!" Ron stammered. "Last night Hermione came to talk to me. I asked her to stay with me." A heavy blush crept onto his cheeks. "She didn't really answer, then said she had to use the bathroom. Next thing I know I'd fallen asleep and it was morning."

"Malfoy?"

Draco rolled his eyes, but told his story nonetheless.

"Well that explains a few things then," Harry said to himself, his brain working.

"Like what, Potter? Hermione was apparently supposed to be in two places last night. She was at neither, and now she's in _your_ room?"

"Fuck off, Malfoy. Hermione came to my room last night, crying and asked if she could sleep in here. She and Ginny slept in the bed, I slept on the floor." He straightened up, his glare hot and piercing. "And if you ever suggest something like that again you can forget about staying under this roof," he ground through his teeth. "Understand?" He opened the door to go back inside.

"Oh, perfectly. Let's discuss it more over tea."

An all out brawl could have erupted right then and there.

"Harry, what's going on?" came Hermione's voice from within the dark room. Both Ron and Draco strained their necks to see inside, but Harry slipped in, blocking their view.

"Go back to bed," he ordered them. Even Ron, his best friend. "You can talk to her at breakfast."

Needless to say, none of them got very much sleep after that.

* * *

At breakfast, some four hours later, Ron and Draco waited eagerly for Hermione to finish her miniscule two pieces of toast and tea. She hadn't said so much as good morning to either of them, instead talking only to Tonks. When she was finally done, they both rushed from their chairs, but it was Snape who won her attention and they left the kitchen together.

"Bloody hell," Ron sneered.

"Stupid git," Draco agreed, though he could have very well been talking about Ron.

"Don't be sour boys," Tonks said, startling them as she walked over. "He's just making sure she'll be able to take the potion tonight. If she's allergic to any of the ingredients, he'll have to start over."

Neither of them seemed to appreciate this answer, however, and stalked off.

"Did I miss something?"

Harry sighed loudly and shook his head.

"They're being idiots."

"Actually, I meant Hermione. I thought she liked Draco."

Harry's expression fell flat.

"_Excuse me_? Why the _hell_ would you think that?" He didn't mean to sound so rude or demanding, but what she'd said was so…so—Harry moaned, putting his head in his hands. Who was he kidding? He'd thought the same thing for some time now. Only suppressing the thought and hearing it from someone else's lips were two different things. "Sorry," he sighed.

"I understand," and Harry felt she did in a very real way.

"I don't think she knows it yet."

"Yet."

"I could literally kill Malfoy for this."

"He's just a boy in love, Harry."

"He's a _Death Eater_, Tonks. A killer. He doesn't deserve to—"

"Technically," drifted in a drawling voice, "I haven't killed anyone." Draco stepped into the room, having overheard them from the living room, where he'd been stewing and waiting for Hermione. "And I'm not a Death Eater anymore, Potter."

"That Mark on your arm sings a different tune," Harry spat.

"Have you even seen it?"

Harry sneered, looking much like an angry wolf. But his face froze not a second later when Draco hiked up his sleeve and held out his arm, the black skull and snake looking more like singed flesh than a magical tattoo. But then neither Harry nor Tonks knew what was involved in getting the Dark Mark.

"Well look," Draco spat, brandishing his arm in Harry's face. "You think _this_ stupid thing makes me evil? A Death Eater? One of Voldemort's supporters?"

Harry would have been glad to answer, to agree, but Draco wasn't finished.

"No, Potter. All it means is my father fucked up and I had to pay for it. I didn't _ask_ for it."

"But that doesn't mean you didn't want it."

Everyone turned so sharply on their heels, it was a wonder they didn't get dizzy. Hermione stood, arms crossed rigidly over her chest, her eyes zeroed in on Draco. Outwardly she appeared almost tranquil, if not slightly annoyed. But inside they all knew she was seething.

"I've trusted you," she began, taking deliberately slow steps towards them. "I accepted you when no one else would. I believed that you switched sides. And I have put up with you, because I do believe all those things." She stopped six inches in front of Draco, belittling him with the simple act of looking into his eyes. "I believe you've changed, and for the better, and everything else. But _not once_ have you even tried to tell me what happened. Yes, you love me. Ok. I can understand that. But before that? What were you doing? When did you get that _hideous_ scar on your arm?" Subconsciously Draco pulled his sleeve back down. "And how the hell could you live with yourself when you were trying to kill the kindest, gentlest man in this world?"

"Do you really want to know?" He was the picture of calm. But that's all he ever was. A picture. An illusion. A fake.

"Yes."

"Everything?"

"_Yes_."

"Fine," he said, and straightened himself up. He wanted to go some place private, but he was beyond asking for such a thing. So he started talking, his voice low and as steady as possible. "When I was given the assignment, I would have killed the old man in a heartbeat."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't care about anyone else one way or another. Not Dumbledore. Not you." He closed his eyes for an instant. "I lived for myself. But that's not even the worst of it." He could kill himself for what he was about to say. "I wouldn't deny you a thing now, Hermione. You said everything, and you're right, you should know. The truth is, Dumbledore wasn't the only one I was supposed to kill and didn't. There was someone else."

"Me." It wasn't a question.

"How—"

"I figured that out a long time ago, Draco. Why else would you have been so civil with me all this time? And don't say it's because you love me; you can love someone and still want to tear their head off. No. You were being nice, because you felt guilty. You were actually going to go through with it."

"You're right." He looked at the floor, then at Harry, of all people, then back at Hermione. "If not for one thing."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"It's not what you think."

"What then?"

"Once, when I was following you, a first year Slytherin dropped his books. Everyone else just walked by, some stepping on his things, but no one paid any attention to him. Except you. You told Potter and Weasley to stop laughing and helped the kid. He yelled at you, calling you a mudblood, but you just smiled and walked away. You didn't care that he was insulting you and hated you for the dumbest reason; he was a person who needed help and that's all you saw, that's all that mattered to you."

"You didn't kill me because I helped some snot-nosed Slytherin pick up his books?"

"If, when I was trying to…kill you, I somehow hurt myself, you wouldn't bat an eyelash and help me. Tell me I'm wrong."

Hermione did no such thing and frowned.

"What are you saying, Malfoy? Any moron could have seen I was a good person."

"I'm not just any moron." And despite her raging anger, Hermione let out a partial chuckle. "Of course I knew you were good, Hermione. But to help a Slytherin? An enemy? Someone who was hurting you _as_ you helped them? That kind of goodness is not something that can be ignored."

"So you just decided right then and there to denounce Voldemort and not kill me?"

"No," he sighed, aggravated that she wasn't really listening. "I thought about it, for a long time. I wondered how it was possible for someone to be _that_ good. Or why they would even want to. It took me a month to realize it was because you're so much stronger than me, because I would have killed you, without thinking, and it would have been weak."

"I—" But Hermione had no idea what to say. And now she realized Harry and Tonks were staring at them, as if watching a Soap Opera. "_Drop_. _Dead_. _Malfoy_."

In a rush of robes, she was gone.

"Don't even think about saying a word, Potter. She might be angry, but she'll calm down, so I don't think your and Tonks' theory is completely out the window. I might actually have a chance with her." Did he really believe that? Or was he all talk because he'd just been so exposed?

"You'd be the first to know," Harry spat, "when hell froze over."

* * *

I rule :) You people are lucky, I've been staying up into the wee hours of the morning typing these last few chapters. So be considerate:

**REVIEW!**

P.S. I know it seems out in left field that the reason Draco didn't go through with killing Hermione was b/c she was nice to a Slytherin. But, if you think about it, it makes sense. He'd been trailing her, which means he was actually paying attention to what she did and why she did it.

**A/N:** **As always, be weary of typos. They haunt me.**


	15. Unloved, Unwelcome

Recap:

"Don't even think about saying a word, Potter. She might be angry, but she'll calm down, so I don't think your and Tonks' theory is completely out the window. I might actually have a chance with her." Did he really believe that? Or was he all talk because he'd just been so exposed?

"You'd be the first to know," Harry spat, "when hell froze over."

* * *

Chapter 15: Unloved, Unwelcome

"What the _hell_ are you doing here!"

"Not exactly the welcome I was hoping for," Draco said dryly, as if he and Hermione hadn't just been downstairs twenty minutes ago; as if she hadn't torn him apart in front of Harry and Tonks; and as if she weren't, at this very moment, glaring at him so angrily he could actually feel it. "And to answer your question: I'm here because we have some unfinished business to attend to."

"Like what?" she spat. Hadn't that been what they were doing downstairs?

"Like the fact that you can't accept how I feel for you. You accept that Weasley loves you, but when it's me, who can't help it just as much as he can't, it's the crime of the century. I don't expect you to love me, Hermione." And this he said in such a spiteful way she didn't know whether he even believed what he was saying. "I never did. That's never what it was about. Hell, I don't even know what it's about, really. But it certainly isn't that. So why can't you accept it? I want _nothing_ from you."

"Yes," she corrected. "You do. You want acceptance. And here's _my_ answer to _your_ question: I can't accept how you feel because _it's you_."

"That's not good enough," he fired back. Of course he'd expected her to say that. It was the fastest and easiest answer.

"What do you want me to say?"

"The truth, Hermione. I want to know exactly why."

"You don't get it!" she all but shrieked, causing him to shrunk back at her volume and intensity. "I like you, Malfoy! I think you're a great guy. You've been nothing but a good friend to me since all this shit has happened, and best of all you're with us now, you're on our team. But I don't want to like you, I don't want to hold myself back from kissing you every time you're around _because of who you _used_ to be_. You can't change the past, Draco, not for real. Yeah, I know we're playing around with time here, but this is different. You will always be Draco Malfoy, the snotty, stuck-up Slytherin who tortured me for years for _no reason_. Don't you see? Nothing you do now really matters. I'm sorry, but it doesn't. You hurt me so bad before that it's not fixable." She sighed and slowly sat on her bed. "Every time I look at you I remember all the horrible things you said and did. So when you told me you loved me, the only possibility was for me to be mad. I'm so _furious_ that you have the audacity to feel that way about me after what you've done."

When she was finished, all Draco could do was stare at her, shocked. Most of what she'd said was predictable, because he sort of felt that way too. Why should he get everything after all his years of malicious behavior? No, the thing that still had him reeling was one of the first things she'd said. She liked him. She wanted to kiss him. He felt worse than dirt for relishing it so, but he couldn't help himself.

"So that's it?"

"Yes," she whispered, near to tears. "I want so badly to not feel this way, Draco. You don't understand. If things had been different, I would have jumped at the chance to be with you. You're a good person…now. But—"

"I get it," he said firmly, but he wasn't leaving yet. There was so much more to say. How was he supposed to deal with this? He could have handled the fact that she didn't like him, but to have her like him and want to be with him and then say she couldn't because of his past—it was worse. And he had no one to blame but himself. "I have more to say."

She looked so tired, so completely exhausted with everything that had been happening. He wanted nothing more than to pull her to him and make everything disappear. But something was boiling, deep within his soul, and it was itching to get out.

"Hermione?"

"Draco, please," and she sounded like she was in agony. "This is too hard. I can't—"

In less than three seconds Hermione was no longer slouched, defeated, on her bed, but pined against the wall beside it. She didn't even recall him advancing on her, or being lifted up, only a hard sickening crunch as her spine collided with the solid wood and rotting tapestry. When she looked up, baffled, she was met with fiery eyes. But not the same eyes he usually looked at her with, fiery with passion—no, these were angry eyes, and she hadn't seen him this mad since they were enemies back at Hogwarts, lashing out at each other every chance they got and completely pissing each other off. She would have been lying if she said she wasn't terrified. What was he capable of? She didn't want to find out.

"This is what you want, isn't it!" Draco cried, grabbing her by the shoulders and squeezing so hard Hermione swore she could actually feel the bruises forming. "For me to be cruel and selfish and hate you, just so you can have everything simple and easy and back to _fucking_ normal! Well I have news for you, Hermione," he hissed. His grip tightened, if that were even possible, and he pressed hard into her, crushing her ribs. And then suddenly he let go and she fell sharply to the floor. "I _changed_. Maybe not completely. Maybe not substantially. And certainly not enough for Potter or Weasley to take one second to notice. But _you_ did, you cared. And now you regret that because it's _too hard_? Because of who I _was_."

He took a calming breath to collect himself, then offered her a slightly shaky hand. He hadn't wanted to do that. Thankfully, she took it and climbed to unsteady feet.

She expected an apology, because he certainly looked sorry for what he'd just done. But that was far from what he said next.

"Don't you get it?" he whispered, almost accusingly. "I don't _want_ to love you. I hate everything about it—how I feel, what it makes me do—" He motioned between them, though she'd understood immediately. "—and think and want. But the thought of not feeling that pain is what really terrifies me…because without it I would never have switched sides and would probably be dead. You," he paused for a moment, taking a chance to look at her for a second. "You saved my life, even if you never wanted to. It's funny, I don't know whether to be grateful or angry about that. Uh," he moaned and raked his fingers through his icy blond locks. "Are we done yet? I don't know how much more of this I can stand."

"How can you go so quickly to making me want to hurt you rather than hold you? You're a damn Rubix Cube."

"Maybe so," he laughed bitterly. "But I thought geniuses like you were supposed to be able to solve them."

Hermione stared at him, blank and silent.

"What? I can't know about something muggle?"

"Of course not," she bit sarcastically. "Jerk…"

"My father," he began, and she had no idea where he could be going with this. What did his father, who he'd killed not two nights ago, have to do with anything? "Of all people, once told me: it's impossible to love two people—yourself and another. It's more than obvious who he chose, though I don't think he could grasp the concept of love enough even to love himself…Anyway, what I'm saying is: I chose you. I risked death and being shunned by you all, but I still did it. Now maybe that doesn't negate what I did in the past, but it has to be worth something."

There was a sharp intake of breath. Suddenly Hermione's hands were on Draco's face, her lips pressed so firmly to his it was almost painful. It was barely a kiss, only their faces pushed together, and the sound of her soul crushing sobs echoing through his head. Out of all the times Draco had imagined her kissing him, her initiating, this was not what he'd ever thought; that it wouldn't be perfect.

She stepped back, a trace of crying still in her throat, and looked up at him. Her eyelashes were sprinkled with droplets of salty tears and she looked ready to pass out.

And then she said the worst thing of all:

"Ron kissed me last night."

Draco couldn't have known what to say had he been given a script months in advance.

"And I kissed him back."

"Why are you telling me this?" What else was there to say? How was it? Do you want to be with him again? He didn't give a damn and he certainly didn't want details. As for them getting back together; he tried to convince himself it was only his fear. If he couldn't have her, he definitely didn't want anyone else to, and especially not Ron.

"Honestly," and she actually laughed; Draco's soul could have ripped in half right there. "I don't know."

"Why did you kiss me?" _Kiss me again_!

She shrugged her shoulders.

"How are we going to win this, Draco? The war," she added quickly. "When we go back to the present, we're going to be in the same position we were when we left: vulnerable. We'll be ambushed all over again. What are we going to do?"

"I can't believe Hermione Granger is asking me this."

"Well—"

"Listen," he said, and this time when he took her by the shoulders it was soft and gentle, and she didn't want him to let go. "You are the smartest person here. Get some rest, and when you wake up we'll go over strategies. We already have a head start; no one expects us to come back. We'll take them completely by surprise. And we have time to prepare and practice. We can do this."

"Where's the Draco I know?"

"I'm serious."

"I know," she sighed. "And you're right. Can you tell Snape I'm taking a nap? Just come get me when the potion is ready."

"I will."

"Thanks."

"Just one more thing before I go." She asked him to continue with her eyes. "Can I kiss you?"

She frowned and turned her head away.

"No."

* * *

"Why _him_, of all people?" Harry snapped, and he was met with one look of curiosity and another of almost resentment for saying such a thing. Tonks and Ron were standing in front of Harry, whose hand was trembling on the teakettle's handle. Ginny sat on the floor, pretending a spoon was a wand.

"I'm just as shocked as you are," Ron fired back. What was Harry getting so angry about? He wasn't _in love_ with her, not the way Ron was. "You could be wrong—"

"Ron," Tonks sighed in a motherly voice. "Draco went up there a half an hour ago to talk to Hermione. If there was no chance that she could even like him in return, we'd have heard a door slam by now."

The boys exchanged looks, but said nothing. How could she be so calm about this? It had been Death Eaters that murdered Lupin, the love of her life. Draco was a former Death Eater, or so he said, and here she was sympathizing with him? Did she know something that they didn't? This was obviously impossible, seeing as she hadn't been around him nearly as much as they had. But still, it made one wonder.

"How can you say that?"

Everyone's eyes widened and dropped to the floor, where Ginny was still playing idly with her wand-spoon. Because it had been her who'd just said that, and acting as though she hadn't. Or maybe she didn't know she had.

"Harry wouldn't abandon us, Percy." And just like that all their hope was ripped away. She hadn't been talking to them at all. "Harry's out there, alone, and all you can do is accuse him of being a coward? He's a hundred times the man you are." It was bad enough that she was reliving her past in front of the, completely oblivious to her surroundings. But the worst part was that her voice was monotone, light and soft, carrying none of the feelings which she most certainly displayed the first time she'd said these things. It was one of the most eerie things Harry had ever witnessed. "No, it doesn't matter that I love him. I would feel the same no matter what, because I know Harry would never do such a thing. He wouldn't let us die. You've lost your mind; stop trying to poison ours."

"Is she—" began a voice from the doorway, but stopped when Ginny continued. Snape came forward and joined the circle around the lost Weasley girl.

"It's not fair, mum. It's not. First dad, then George and Percy, then Fred, now Charlie? No one's heard from Harry or Ron or Hermione. Professor McGonagall hasn't been seen since she went looking for Bill. Why…why is this happening? What did we do wrong?" And then she did the most startling thing of all; she looked up, looked directly at Harry, and said, "I loved you. Why did you let this happen?"

"I didn't—" But Snape stopped him with a speedy Silencing Charm.

"You think this will help matters, Potter? The girl's lost her mind. She doesn't know you're here right now, she doesn't know anything that's happening."

"This isn't fair!" he cried; Ron broke the spell for him a second after it had been administered. "How can this be what will happen!"

"Not if we don't go back and prevent it!" Snape bellowed back, his wand clenched so tight in his fists he could have snapped it in half.

"What the hell is going on?" The new voice was Draco. He walked into hell, already bitter after being rejected by Hermione. Why would she kiss him then deny him kissing her? _It made no sense_.

"Don't you—"

"Shove it Potter. I came here to talk to Snape." He then turned to his former professor and said, "Hermione's taking a nap. Tell me when her potion is ready and I'll go get her."

"No you won't!" Ron chimed in, his face ablaze with such anger it was a wonder his freckles didn't melt off. For an instant Draco thought that he was acting insane, after having taken him aside to have a freakish little heart-to-heart. But now he understood what it had really been about. Ron was trying, and failing, to be the bigger man. He wanted word to get back to Hermione so that she would see how great he was. He never meant a thing that he'd said for the simple reason that he never thought Hermione would in a million years like him back. But, now that she might, the rules had changed.

"Honestly, what's going on?" Draco drawled, rolling his eyes. His answer came from none other than Ginny, whose gaze shifted to him. He felt a shiver run through his very bones; he'd never really experienced her looking at him before. She was striking, that much was certain. But aside from her obvious beauty, she was morbid and starved.

"Mum, Tonks was supposed to come back hours ago. What if—what if she was…I don't think I can handle another. This can't happen again…But what if you're not around too? What if I'm all alone in this house? I'll go insane." The bitter irony of this statement was not lost on the group congregated around her. "I don't want to be alive anymore."

Draco let out a muffled gasp before he could stop himself, for just then her face had stretched into the most gruesome grin, and then she went back to her spoon, ignoring them all.

No one would have said anything had they been able to form words. There was nothing _to say_.

"Hello!"

Their heads turned so fast that the cracking of their necks could be heard. Who was that? It sounded like a woman, but definitely not Hermione.

"Severus! Draco!"

"How the hell—" Snape began, but there would be no finishing his exclamation, for not a second later the most unlikely, and unwelcome, person walked into the kitchen.

Narcissa Malfoy.

"Severus," she sighed, looking more than terrified. All eyes were on her and the red rag-like piece of clothe in her right hand. "Thank Merlin you're still here."

"What are you doing here?" Snape asked, as if asking about the weather.

"No," Draco seethed out. "The question is: how did you get in here? This house is guarded—"

"There are ways around the Fidelius Charm," she whispered, her face ghost white and she lifted her right arm. It wasn't a red rag at all; it was a torn shirt covered in blood!

"Did you—"

"Not my whole hand. Three fingers."

"You still didn't answer the first question," Draco spat, not at all happy to see her. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to help you."

Not one person in the room believed a word.

* * *

Whoa! What do you think of that twist?

**REVIEW!**


	16. The Sidelius Spell

Recap:

(Narcissa Malfoy showed up)

"I came to help you."

Not one person in the room believed a word.

* * *

Chapter 16: The Sidelius Spell

Hermione couldn't sleep.

Her eyes were coated with cement and being pushed down by a hundred tiny hands, and yet sleep would not take her. Her body ached from lack of sleep, her mind throbbed from too much thinking and getting nothing profound accomplished. How long had they been away from the present? It seemed years, and it could last forever if they made any more mistakes. Voldemort was surely looking for revenge, with the death of one of his best Death Eaters. The longer they stayed here, the longer they risked never getting back.

She rolled over, curling into a ball, the door a hazy dot in the distance. Not ten minutes before had Draco left, his face a perfect mask of indifference. Of course he'd been upset that she denied him a kiss, especially after what she'd done, but what was she supposed to do? Let him kiss her? That was absolutely not a choice. She was Hermione Granger, he was Draco Malfoy. And lions ate snakes, or at least they very well could. Not that she considered herself aggressive towards him, but the point was they didn't match. Her and Ron, yes. They were understandable. They were both Gryffindors, both on the same side, both had dealt with berating insults from the Slytherins.

_What am I doing_? she thought angrily. Was she actually comparing her and Ron to her and Draco? The two didn't come close to being the same; the only thing they had in common was their gender and lineage. And to judge her relationship with Draco on the basis that they weren't alike? That was absurd. Why the hell would she want to date someone exactly like her?

But that still didn't change anything, not really. Just because they were opposite and complimented each other, didn't excuse what he'd done. Though he'd made a good argument for himself when he told her what his father told him about love. If Draco could risk his life just to love her, not even tell her he loved her, but to acknowledge it to himself and feel it, then didn't he deserve more than constant fights and banishment from the others? Sure all the things he'd done were cruel, but they were _nothing _compared to what he _could_ have done had he not made the choice to be on the right side. And he'd made that choice not for safety, as Hermione had accused him of before, but for an actual good reason. Because he loved and cared for another, and saw that it was a good thing, and that Voldemort and the Death Eaters could barely grasp the concept of love, let alone feel it. So if love was good, and those he was with didn't possess it, then that meant they were not the right side.

She couldn't have felt more like dirt, covered in manure, stepped on, set on fire—the list was endless. She'd been so wrong about so many things pertaining to Draco. Maybe she was wrong, as well, about her feelings for him. Maybe she didn't have to keep her distance because of the past. Didn't Dumbledore forgive Snape? How was Draco any different?

But then none of those things could help her in the worst problem of all: her friends. Harry and Ron would _never_ accept Draco, and especially not if Hermione started to become involved with him. There was no way, no matter what, that she could betray them so badly. They were her best friends, her family, the boys that had been there for her for six years. How long had Draco been nice to her? Four months? How could she compare him to them on that scale? And for a crush? No. She couldn't. Not unless she loved him the way he loved her, and even then she doubted she could pluck up the courage to even breach the subject with Harry and Ron.

Resigning to her fate, both with Draco and her inability to sleep, Hermione decided that a nice cup of tea and a sandwich was what she needed. But, when she got downstairs, she was served something far less desirable.

* * *

"You can't possibly think we would believe you," Harry snarled, he body planted protectively in front of Ginny, though Narcissa's attention was solely for her son. "So unless you want to end up like your husband, I suggest you leave."

"Severus," Narcissa said, ignoring Harry's outrage. "Are you familiar with the Sidelius Spell? To counter the Fidelius Charm?"

Slowly, he nodded.

"Then you would know that the spell only works if the person wishing to gain access to the guarded house has pure intentions and is willing to make a sacrifice to do good." She held up her bloody hand.

"She's telling the truth," Snape said, not looking at anyone.

"And we're supposed to believe _you_?" Draco snapped. "Fuck that! I will not have _that woman_ in the same house as Hermione!"

"Don't you dare start with that, Malfoy!" Ron jumped in. "She's not yours to protect!"

"He can protect me if he damn well pleases," floated in Hermione's tranquil voice. True, she had been mortified only moments ago upon seeing Narcissa Malfoy in the kitchen, but then she knew something they didn't, and calmed down immediately. "I'm fed up with all of your ridiculous bickering. It's my life, not yours. The situation has to do with no one but myself and Draco. And don't you even think about opening your mouth Ronald Weasley," she warned. "I am _not_ saying that I feel the same for him. I'm saying that he has a right to love who he does."

Draco's mouth hung open. Did that mean—

"By the way," she added, stepping all the way into the room. "She's telling the truth. I've read about the Sidelius Spell." She then turned to Narcissa, a woman two heads taller with a nasty snarl in her lip. "You must really love your son."

"Don't talk to me," she bit. "How dare you poison my son's brain. He doesn't love you."

"Shut your damn mouth, _mother_. If you're here to help us, then obviously you're going to be against Voldemort. So if you're on our side, then you'll accept Hermione."

"You love this…this _muggle-born_?"

"With everything I have," he spat.

"Is that why you killed your father?" she whispered, tears lacing her eyes.

"Don't tell me you're going to cry over that sorry excuse for a wizard. He was vile and cruel. He hit you! He deserved what he got; I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

"How did this happen? When did you…abandon us?"

"When I grew up. It's time you did the same. There's nothing to gain from killing everyone in the world until only a handful of purebloods are left. Hell! We're hardly purebloods as it is! And Voldemort? He's the same as Hermione. How can that be your Lord?"

"Do you think one snotty speech is going to change me, Draco? I'm here for one reason, and one reason only. To help you get home."

"You do realize that when I do, I'm going to be against you."

"Of course I do. Kill me, kill your father. It doesn't matter to me anymore."

"You…you've already switched sides, haven't you?" Ron whispered without realizing it.

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "At least one of you can see the obvious."

"Then what was that little speech about?" Draco asked.

"I may have switched, but that doesn't mean I don't still believe some of it."

"Like what?"

"Like muggles and wizards interacting. It's disgusting."

"Forget I asked," Draco sneered. "Let's pretend for a minute that I believe you. What the hell could you do to help us? We have everything under control. We'll be home within a week."

"And when you get back? How prepared are you to face the Dark Lord? Clearly not that well with the situation you're in now."

"And what makes you so sure we're not prepared?"

"You're just like your father!" Narcissa cried, throwing her hands up. "So much pride there's no room for brains."

"This has nothing to do with pride. It has to do with the fact that no one here trusts you or what you're doing. Just leave now."

"What about you?" Harry cut in. "We don't trust you either."

"Don't turn this around," Hermione said. "They're both right."

All eyes turned to Hermione.

"They are. We don't trust her, yet she's right that we don't have a plan. They're both being stubborn and it's only going to hurt us in the end. If she thinks she has a plan to help us beat Voldemort, then I'm willing to listen. What have we got to lose? She's wandless and—"

"I am not wandless," Narcissa hissed.

"You're not?" Hermione held up a wand that looked suspiciously like Narcissa Malfoy's.

"How did you get that!"

"When all of you were arguing, I took it. And if you're truly willing to help us, then you'll let me hold on to it for now."

Narcissa snarled, but said nothing.

Hermione took this being as good as a yes. "Brilliant," she said with a smile. Draco did all he could not to run over and kiss her.

* * *

Two hours later they seemed to have something of a plan to work with. They decided to break for some food, then talk it over more. Of course it wasn't so nice and simple. Everyone was either blue or red in the face from yelling and arguing. When they reached the kitchen no one talked and ate slowly, savoring the food.

"Hermione."

Everyone looked at Snape. What happened to Granger?

"I said 'Hermione'," he growled. "Not room full of morons."

"Yes?" she said, hoping they would all go back to their food and not stare.

"Come to my room," he said while standing up, "after you're done." This only increased the stares; Hermione's cheeks would burst into flames if they didn't stop it. "Your potion is ready." This turned all the eyes away, finally, and they continued on in silence.

After dinner, Hermione did as she was told, climbing the steps to Snape's lonely little corner of the house. Ron, Harry, and Draco had all insisted they go with her, but with a stern, "No," they backed off and didn't follow. What did they think their former professor was going to do? Had he shown any signs of still being a Death Eater?

_But he's also shown no remorse for killing Dumbledore_, she thought, just as she came to his door. It opened before she had a chance to knock.

"Thank Merlin," he grunted, opening the door all the way so she could enter.

"I told them to stay put," she said, knowing what he'd been referring to. "Their problem with you is just that: _their problem_."

Snape's face was unreadable for a second, as if he were deciding whether or not to believe her, and then, stunning her completely, he smiled. Not a vindictive smile. Not a cruel, I'm-going-to-kill-you-in-your-sleep smile. But a real, genuine smile.

She was so taken aback that she almost forgot to smile in return.

"Thank you, by the way," she said as she sat at his desk. "For helping me."

"Once you've taken the potion you're going to help me."

"I know."

There was an awkward pause. Snape frowned and turned away to fetch the potion.

"As insolent as he is," he said, his back still to her—and Hermione knew just who he meant. "He means well."

"I could say the same for you."

"Watch it Granger." But she could tell he was smiling. "There is one side-effect." He walked over, carrying both the potion and a dry clothe. "It will burn and you'll probably cough."

"Is that the side-effect?" she asked hopefully.

He laughed. "No. In twenty-four hours you will become paralyzed—" Hermione gasped, but he glared at her, so she covered her mouth. "—for a short time. Two, maybe three hours. At which time you will be very susceptible to becoming sicker. Someone will have to watch you the entire time."

"That doesn't sound so—"

"If you so much as catch a cold, you will die."

The mood—already full and heavy—crashed to the floor and shattered. She suddenly wished at least one of her boys were here to comfort her.

When had she started including Draco with her boys?

"Here." Snape handed her the vile, a very opaque liquid that was between an orange and a green; it smelled alright enough, and the glass felt cool to the touch. What did he mean it would burn?

She learned immediately after tipping it down her throat. Ice turned fire inside her, singeing her, making her want to vomit. As predicted, she coughed, a small bit of the potion splashing onto the clothe Snape had provided. For about a minute afterward she felt like she would pass out. And then, in the blink of an eye, she was fine, resilient even, and smiled up at her savior.

"That was interesting," she commented, not knowing what else to say.

He grunted in response and cleaned up with the flick of his wand.

They got to work right away on the Time Turner, and soon Hermione could see why he'd needed her help. It was proving difficult for her as well. With all that she'd done to it before, they must have been putting strain on it now.

"Excuse me," he said after several hours. He stood and went for the door. "Who will be watching you?"

She blinked a few times, unsure of who to say. And then she said the last thing she expected:

"You."

"I—" he began, but cut himself off. "I'll let them know."

"Thanks," she said into her lap, then turned back to their project.

Why had she wanted Snape to be the one to watch her? Surely Harry or Ron, or even Draco, were a better choice than Snape. Everyone in the house would be in an uproar, demanding it be them who watched her. But, when it came down to it, Snape was the perfect choice. He knew the most about the potion and it's effects; he would know what to do if anything unexpected were to happen while she was unconscious; plus, she still felt incredibly exposed and uncomfortable around her boys right now. With everything that had happened between her and Ron, then her and Draco, it was a wonder she'd spent more than an hour with any of them since it all went down.

"This fucking sucks," she blurted out angrily, then continued to work, the healing potion swimming through her; both a blessing and a curse.

* * *

Narcissa was laughing so hard it hurt. She clutched her side with her good hand, which no one had offered to help her heal, tears climbing through their ducts.

"Shut the hell up," Draco said, not looking at her. "This isn't something to laugh over!"

"Calm yourself Narcissa," Snape said, wanting to get as far from this ridiculous woman as he could.

"Come now, Severus." She wiped her eyes, a small laugh still behind her voice. "Look at them." She motioned to Draco, Ron, and Harry, all of whom glared back at her. "They're absolutely absurd. What is so damn special about this mudblood that they all wish to protect her? No one ever showed so much interest in me." She said this with no emotion, other than amusement. She didn't care that no one ever cared about her. She was simply stating a fact, and finding humor in it.

"If you weren't such a foul woman," Ron sneered, "with such a foul family—" He glanced at Draco. "—then maybe you'd understand."

"I still think he's lying," Harry said, referring to Snape. "Hermione would never pick him over _us_."

"Harry."

All eyes turned to the staircase, where Hermione stood, her new haircut making her appear older.

"I did ask Professor Snape to watch over me. It's for the best."

"For the best!"

"Yes," she said calmly, though inside she was anything but. Snape had been gone longer than it took to relay information. There was a problem, and she came to fix it. "He knows what he's doing more than any of you."

"But—"

"We'll work on out strategy some more," Draco interrupted. "It's fine."

Harry and Ron huffed childishly, both thinking the same thing: Avada Kedavra.

"Thank you, Draco." She smiled, then turned and drifted back upstairs, Snape on her heels.

"Don't open your mouths," Draco hissed once they were completely gone. "Am I the only one who sees that fighting is making this situation worse? Stuck it up for once so we can get this done."

It took everything Harry and Ron had not to retort.

A few minutes later they were gathered in the living room, knowing they would be there all night.

* * *

I hope Narcissa's explanation was sufficient for you all. Honestly, she was a spur of the moment add-in to the story. I never intended her to be there, but I needed them all to stay in the future for a while longer. I mean, they really do need a plan of attack, so it seemed logical to me.

**REVIEW!**


	17. No Small Talk

Recap:

"Don't open your mouths," Draco hissed once they were completely gone. "Am I the only one who sees that fighting is making this situation worse? Suck it up for once so we can get this done."

It took everything Harry and Ron had not to retort.

A few minutes later they were gathered in the living room, knowing they would be there all night.

* * *

Chapter 17: No Small Talk

"This is highly inappropriate," Snape sighed, not even looking in the direction of the door as it opened and closed. "But ultimately expected."

Draco cast a simple sealing spell on himself to ensure that he could not get Hermione sick with his presence; Snape had already, of course, done the same. He took a seat in the chair between Hermione's bed, wondering why it was there.

"To be with Celeste," Draco began, ignoring his former professor's warning glare, "if you had to tell her everything you'd done, would you?"

Snape had been ready to just brush him off, thinking how uncouth such a question was. But then the gears in his brain began to turn, and he thought it over, realizing that he did have an answer.

"Completely," he whispered, stunned at his own word choice.

"How is she?" Draco asked, changing the subject.

"Stable. Healthy. So far." He looked at the clock on the wall, scowling. "18 hours left."

"I love her."

Silence.

"How did you make Celeste love you?"

"I didn't make her do anything," Snape bit. "And this subject is out of the question. It has nothing to do—"

"You don't fucking get it, do you? This isn't something you can just throw away or ignore or run from. Every day of your life you will regret not staying with her. Maybe not this minute—"

"She died two years later."

"—but soon you will—What?"

"Celeste. I went to her grave. She died in 1808; we were there in 1806."

"And you believe—"

"I have no way of knowing," Snape rounded on him, baring his teeth. "Nor would I assume such a thing. She…she was a strong witch."

Draco lowered his eyes and nodded. What else was he supposed to do?

"She also loved you," he finally said.

"What has that to do with anything!"

"Well I'm not suicidal!" Draco yelled, thankful that Hermione was unconscious. "But if I lost Hermione…I'm just saying, you don't know."

"I fail to see the point in this discussion, Draco. Did you come here to see your girlfriend or to pester me? Because you've already accomplished both."

"Prick."

"Insolent brat."

With a pop Draco was gone, suddenly very thirsty.

* * *

"You were the most unruly child."

Draco turned from the tea he'd been pouring, and glared at his mother who stood in the doorway. Somehow she took his anger as an invitation, and came into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table.

"And you were an incompetent mother. What's the point?"

"When you failed to kill Dumbledore, your father was ready to leave you for dead."

"And why didn't he?" Draco spat, forgetting the tea as he advanced upon her. What right had she to come here and disrupt them? And now she was telling him all these things he could care less about.

"You didn't give him the chance." She smirked and looked at her hands. "You were gone with Severus; he considered the job done."

"Why are you telling me this? You act as though it's new information, mother."

"You're so bitter."

"Due to your wonderful rearing. Are we done now?"

She sighed heavily, as if a deep hollow pain were growing inside her. Draco remembered her severed fingers, remembered how difficult it had been for him to watch her—cloaked by the serious shadows of the house—attempt to healing the oozing wounds; difficult not because she was in pain, or because she was helpless, or even because she was his mother. No. It had been difficult because he truly didn't _want_ to help her. She was his mother, the woman who carried him within her, raised him, risked her life for him—and he _didn't care_.

It disturbed him, to say the least, that he was so indifferent towards her. Somehow he felt this directly related to his feelings for Hermione, and that if he couldn't love and respect his mother then somehow his love for Hermione was diminished, false, imperfect. Because there was something so perfect about love to him, the way a person can, without thought to consequence, throw caution to the wind and express unbridled love. That's what he'd done, after all, with Hermione. He didn't care (anymore) what others thought, what Hermione herself thought.

But she did.

She cared, and so, if there had even been a glimpse of a chance before, there was none now. She cared what Harry and Ron and everyone else thought of her, her feelings, her choices. She was inherently good and therefore was not _allowed_ to freely express anything but hatred, or indifference, to Draco.

"I have loved you the best I can," Narcissa said, puncturing Draco's wandering thought cloud. He'd almost forgotten she was there.

"What's the supposed to mean?" He didn't know if his mother could perform Legilimens, but he greatly suspected it now, for he had just been pondering love. And not just love in the basic sense, but degrees of love, and by her saying she loved him "the best she can" showed variation, showed degrees.

"If I held you I was coddling you," she explained, making it obvious that these were her late husband's thoughts. "If I didn't, I was ignoring you. I have ingrained in me the morals and teachings of my family, of _our _family. How was I supposed to love you properly? Surely you had trouble loving the mud—muggle-born."

"I fail to see how this is any of your concern, _mother_."

"How is it not?" she quipped, tilting her head almost innocently to the side. "I raised you. Your father and I taught you to be the way you are. Your struggle with who you are today is a direct result of our influence."

Draco said nothing. Of course she was right, but he wasn't going to be the one to tell her that. Besides, she probably already knew. Her voice and tone were confident, solid. She didn't falter, even when he could see behind her eyes that her hand still hurt.

"I can fix that," he blurted out, pointing to her bandaged hand, fresh blood soaking through the gauze.

"I know you can." She smiled and pushed out the chair beside her with her foot. "Sit."

He obliged, gently taking her wrist, his wand held steadily in his other hand. He focused solely on the healing charm from his memory, purposely making himself forget it was his cold, heartless mother before him. It took him quite longer than he would have liked, but when he was finished her wounds were healed, a magical layer of skin coating the area where her fingers had been.

He sat back, set his wand on the table, and just stared. He should have felt something after doing such a selfless deed. But he didn't. He felt exactly the same as he had before. Helping his ailing mother had done nothing profound to him.

He closed his eyes and groaned.

"You can't expect change in a heartbeat, Draco."

"Stay out of my head," he bit. "If there's something I wish to share, I will."

She nodded her apologies and stood.

"I don't expect anything from you, you know. When I'm done here, when you and the others are safely back in your right time, I'm going back to Voldemort."

"But—"

"You have no clout to suggest I do otherwise. My entire life has been decided for me, Draco. This is my decision. Don't try to stop me."

"I want to care," he whispered, crumbling.

"And I want to live. But what we want and what fate decides to give us are for the most part different and conflicting. Don't worry about our relationship. Our worlds are far too distant now to be changed. Work on what you _can_ change."

"Why can't this change?" he demanded. She was being so calm and it was pissing him off!

"Because I don't want it to," she said matter-of-factly. "If this changes then other possibilities might be closed to you. I won't risk that. You are, after all, my son."

"I'm never going to be ok with this."

"I know." She touched his cheek, kissed it with her fingertips. "I love you Draco."

He didn't even try to answer. Then she did kiss him; good-bye.

* * *

It took the others several hours to realize Narcissa had left the house. What they didn't know, what Draco didn't tell them, was that she was in fact coming back. All their ranting and raving and cursing her name was for nothing.

Draco didn't see any reason to correct them.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Hermione was just beginning to stir. Her eyes opened, haze-covered and glistening with sleep-tears. She tried to sit up, prop herself on her elbows, but a strong hand pressed her back against the pillows, and an equally strong voice demanded she stay put, she wasn't fully recovered yet.

Snape, she reasoned. Snape, her unsuspecting savior.

A cool clothe was placed over her forehead, a hot mug in her hands.

"How are you?"

"Harry?"

"Yeah. How are you?"

Her eyes finally focused themselves and she saw that everyone, save Narcissa, was in her room, standing over her.

"I'm so tired," she whispered, and the mug nearly dropped to the floor. Ron caught it, however, and set the tea on the table beside her bed. "Why am I tired? I," she yawned. "I've been asleep so long."

"Your body got too much sleep," Snape answered monotone, sounding much like doctors in those hospital dramas her parents watched. "Drink that tea and you should have some energy."

"When—"

"Stay in bed for at least an hour." He handed her the tea, then silently left the room, for unbeknownst to anyone else, the front door had just opened and closed. Narcissa was back.

* * *

When Hermione was well enough to get out of bed, she spent the next two hours in a locked and silenced room with Snape. When she emerged only Tonks was waiting for her, her face bright—she almost could have fooled her into believing she was alright.

"They're downstairs," she said, not needing to include the fact that Narcissa was with them. Hermione already knew. "They believe they've figured out a plan."

Hermione smiled and nodded, her throat sore from her medicine and the arguing with Snape for so long.

"May I ask you something, Hermione?"

Again she nodded, this time her smile a little harder to keep, to hide her apprehension.

"If you could have Harry and Ron's approval, would you pursue Draco?"

"Tonks," she sighed, her voice scratchy; even her lips were tender. "Please."

"Do you love him?"

Hermione would have ignored her, had she not grabbed her wrist as she asked, her soul projected for the whole world to see. She wasn't simply asking out of curiosity, and it wasn't wholly about concern either. The main reason she needed—yes, needed—to know was because she had loved, she still loved, Remus Lupin. And when she lost him all hope of love settled in the dust with his lifeless body.

Until the day they came to headquarters.

"It's different with Draco, not like it was with Ron. I _knew_ without a doubt that I loved him. Because I'm not in love with him anymore does that mean I never was?" she continued on, ignoring the original question. "If I could feel so strongly about Ron and it turned out to not be love _and_ I hurt him, how could I willingly do that to Draco?"

"Of course the love you had for Ron is going to feel different. And who says you didn't love Ron before? And, even after all that, why can't you love Draco too?"

"Maybe I'm not good enough to love anyone," she spat, making to leave. Tonks caught her in her arms, hugging her protectively. For a moment she thought she might cry but, when she stepped away, her face was dry and her countenance calm.

"You knew without a doubt that you loved Ron because you did, Hermione. Everyone knows loves, knows its warmth and its pain. Now I'm going to ask you again: Do you love Draco?"

"I…" And now the tears did well, but she was practiced enough now to repress them and took a deep breath. "I don't know…"

* * *

Around the corner Draco's heart flopped—warring between excited and crushed. On the one hand, she didn't _not_ love him; on the other, she couldn't say she loved him either. So, there was still a chance. No matter how small.

He hugged his arms as if he were cold—a gesture no well-breed, proud Malfoy would do—and sun to the floor, crying for the first time in so long he scarcely remembered the feeling of warm tears on his cheeks.

He cried—sobbed—for a good few minutes—a hell of a lot longer than ever before in his life—then stood back up, mopping his eyes with the sleeve of his robe. And when he looked up, Hermione was standing right in front of him. He couldn't remember a time he'd seen a sadder face—it made him want to cry all over again.

"We're ready," he said, the last thing he was thinking or wanted to be true. "We can leave tomorrow."

All she could do was nod.

* * *

Hermione sat curled against Harry's chest on the raggedy old sofa in the living room, listening intently as he and Tonks took turns explaining the plan. Narcissa added her information when necessary; Snape was the only one who conversed with her. Hermione said nothing the entire time, making sure to keep her eyes away from both Draco and Snape. When they were finished, all she said was, "Ok," then allowed Harry to lead her into the kitchen, knowing what was to come.

She made them a pot of tea, stirring it with stick of cinnamon, before she began to speak in a low, soft voice.

She talked at length for close to forty-five minutes, pacing herself, her rhythm steady. Harry listened with interest, commenting little, and generally letting her say her peace. He disagreed with her for the most part and questioned her motives—inwardly—wondering how anything she was saying was beneficial. At the end she could sense his trepidation and finished with, "You love Ginny, don't you?"

"Of course," he answered instantly. "Wh—Very well," he sighed, then cleaned up their mugs. When he sat back down his face was even more grave, his eyes seeming to have aged ten years. "I have to ask you something, Hermione."

"Sure." Her voice stuck like honey in her throat.

"Promise me that whatever happens—whatever you decide—you will tell Ron before you say anything to Malfoy."

"Harry—"

"Don't say nothing will happen," he sighed, looking straight at her with those deathly green eyes. He wasn't angry, not by a long shot—but the intensity with which he stared made her feel weak and vulnerable. "You could change your mind in a heartbeat. Now, I love you Hermione. And Ron loves you. We want your happiness above all."

"Surely Ron—"

"Don't write him off yet," he cautioned, holding up a hand. "He's your friend no matter what, Hermione. Remember that."

"But he's _Malfoy_," she stressed, balling her fists. "How can that be ok?"

"I'm telling you right now that it is. What more do you need?" He took her hand in his, rubbing the back of it affectionately with his thumb. It sent a shot through his heart every time he thought of Hermione and Malfoy together, of him holding her, loving her, making her happy where his best friend had failed. Malfoy didn't deserve her, and she sure as hell didn't deserve to put up with a self-centered egomaniac like him. But, if that was what she wanted, what she needed, then nothing could make him stop her. "Listen to me," he said, as if Hermione were his daughter and they were having a discussion about the "birds and the bees". "I never thought I'd find someone like Ginny, someone who understood me, who could love me despite everything—good or bad. She didn't glorify me like so many because of what happened when I was an infant and she didn't hate me for all the mistakes I've made. I let so many people down, I let her down, _but she still loved me_. If that's the case with you and Malfoy—"

"You know," she interrupted, a feeble and bitter laugh behind her words. "I thought that if you and Ron gave your approval the hard part would be over—I'd be able to make a decision…But, to tell you the truth, I have no idea…And I don't know how I ever will."

* * *

FINALLY I finished the 17th chapter of my story. I know it's been many months, and my only excuse is lack of ideas. I know it doesn't seem like much, but what I have here has taken me this long to come up with. Most of it has been written for a long time now, the last of the chapter being finished today. But that's how writing goes sometimes, I suppose; the simplest ideas take the longest to come up with.

R**EVIEW!**

**Note: **This is, as far as I can tell right now, the second to last chapter of _Time_. I don't much more story, and if I stretch this on for two more chapters I think I'll lose the meaning. So, unless I can cure my writing retardation, then the next chapter is the last. And yes, I am currently working on it. I've known since about the third or forth chapter how it was going to end, it's the getting there that's the problem. I have the beginning of the chapter started and the end in my head. Hopefully the middle comes to me shortly.


	18. The End

Recap:

"You know," Hermione interrupted, a feeble and bitter laugh behind her words. "I thought that if you and Ron gave your approval the hard part would be over—I'd be able to make a decision…But, to tell you the truth, I have no idea…And I don't know how I ever will."

* * *

Chapter 18: The End

The morning they were leaving, which they'd decided was two days later instead of one, they said their tearful good-byes to Tonks and Ginny, Tonks promising to care for Ginny as her own.

"I love you more than you could ever know," Harry whispered, taking her vacant face in his hands—surprisingly Snape, Draco and Narcissa gave no snide remarks. He kissed her forehead, suppressing a rumbling sob within him. There was no doubt in anyone's mind now that he could defeat Voldemort.

Draco had a more private, and cold, farewell with his mother the night before, their words few yet essential. He promised to find her, to bring her with him onto the light side. When she refused, he only challenged her once, demanding a reason.

"Because I made a choice," she'd answered, a genuine and motherly smile gracing her features for the first time in so long he'd forgotten she was capable of such a thing. If he didn't know she was so miserable, and had been for so long, she might have been pretty in that moment. "I chose your life over my own. I made that decision long ago. Please allow me this one right as a mother, even if I don't deserve it."

By noon it was cold and stormy, the same time they reached the edge of the forest where they would go back in time. And the instant they did, they were in the heat of battle. No one needed to say a word; they all knew what was at stake.

* * *

Hermione took Harry's hand, her tears washed away in the rain from above. He turned his head just as she did and smiled lovingly at her. In the trees, only a quarter of a mile away, they heard a cry, a familiar voice. "Kill the mudblood!" came Fenrir Greyback's snapping growl, echoing off the rain.

"Any minute now," Harry whispered, his complete focus on the sounds around them.

Hermione grip tightened around Harry's hand. She squeezed her eyes shut, the hum of voices around them growing louder and louder at they inched closer to the destination. They did not walk as a single group, for that would have been foolish, causing them to be a welcome target for anyone with a wand; Snape and Draco at the very front, Ron just behind them, and her and Harry walking slowly at the back.

Sighing to herself, for she was both mentally and physically exhausted, Hermione glanced up just as Snape turned his head and caught his eyes. He wore his usual scowl of disapproval and general annoyance, though something profound in his countenance had changed.

"Thank you," he mouthed, then turned back, walking on as if nothing had happened.

"Oh God," Hermione whispered, gripping the front of her shirt as if she could grasp her own pounding heart.

"What?" Harry asked, trying not to sound too alarmed.

"Oh God," she repeated, this time with more feeling, more sadness. "I'm such an idiot."

Flashback:

"Is there more I should know about my condition?" Hermione asked once everyone was out of the room and out of earshot. It was the only reason she could think of that Snape would want her to stay back and talk.

"No, you're fine," he sighed, sitting down heavily in the desk chair, his forehead resting on the palm of his hand.

"Then—"

"Shut your mouth for a moment and I'll tell you."

Hermione glared heatedly at him, but said nothing.

"Your boyfriend came in here when you were out—"

"Draco isn't my boyfriend," Hermione corrected, receiving an equally heated glare from Snape.

"As I was saying," he continued, "Draco came in here when you were asleep. He wanted to talk to me about Celeste, and about you…He asked me a question about her that I answered immediately, without thinking. I answered it so quickly because I knew the answer before he'd even asked the question, yet…yet its implications have haunted me ever since."

Hermione adjusted her position on the bed, settling herself to be more comfortable, her ears perked and ready for what he was to say next.

"He asked me…if to be with Celeste I had to tell her everything I'd done, would I?...I told him 'completely' and I think the word left my mouth before he'd even finished asking the question."

"Excuse me, but I don't see—"

"I told you once to shut your mouth," he snapped. "Why is it so difficult for women to be silent when important things are being said?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice stiff from the way he was talking to her. "What were you talking to Celeste about that she didn't want to be quiet either?"

"I will tell you what I wish, Miss Granger, and nothing more. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, quite clearly," she shot back. "But you listen to me, _Professor_. I have had enough of you and everyone else trying to tell me what I should do about Draco and his feelings for me. And don't tell me that's not what this is about, because I've heard it all and more and I'm sick of it! It's my life, my decision! I don't need other people giving me their advice about something they know nothing about and could never understand! I have my own reasons for how I'm dealing with the situation, none of which are any of your concern, or anyone else's. So if you kept me in here to talk about Draco, then you might as well open the door now, because I refuse to hear a word of it."

"I believe Celeste killed herself two years after we left."

Hermione's once racing heart, fueled by anger, now thudded softly in her chest, her eyes wide and confused.

"I…Why do you think that?"

"I visited a graveyard in the area where her village used to be. I found her headstone and it said she died two years later. She was young, Miss Granger, too young for any silly sickness to overtake her, especially since she was a brilliant witch and could have cured any illness….Therefore I came to the conclusion that it was intentional, and that it was…it was because of my refusal to stay with her."

Against her will, Hermione felt tears begin to well in her eyes.

"She literally begged me to stay with her, told me it would make no difference in the time scheme, that one person staying behind would do no harm. I disagreed, I told her I couldn't stay and that…that I didn't love her."

"You lied to her?" Hermione gasped, completely dumbfounded. "Why?"

"Because then she would have been able to change my mind!" he yelled, slamming his fist on the desk. "I would have foolishly stayed behind and ruined the sequence of time! Who knows what could have happened if I stayed behind with her, what terrible things could have gone wrong. I had to—"

"Coward," she hissed, standing up and advancing on him. "You're lying. If not to me, then to yourself."

"Don't you dare raise your voice—"

"No, it's your turn to listen," she said, giving his chest a shove to further gain his attention. "You don't care what happens to the timeline, and you certainly don't care what happens to us more than you care about her. I understand why you have to help Draco, with the vow you took. That makes sense, but that time is over. If you had stayed back with Celeste then the bond would have broken, for you would never have been alive to make the vow to Draco in the first place." She sighed deeply, then continued. "I also understand why you're compelled to protect Harry, because I'm not stupid Professor, I know how you cared for Lily and how you think caring for her son will make up for your failure to be with her."

"You're on dangerous ground," Snape warned.

"I don't care," she shot back. "Now I'm not done yet. The reason you didn't stay back with Celeste, even though she begged you, even though you loved her, was because you fear being a failure with her, just the way you were with Lily. Now I don't know what happened with you and Lily, and I really don't care. But why would you let something similar happen with you and Celeste, a woman who clearly wanted nothing more than for you to be with her?"

Snape's eyes narrowed but, instead of yelling at her or hissing under his breath, he looked at the floor and sighed.

"You're right," he said. "Merlin…I'm such a fool."

Hermione smiled sadly and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"What if I said I could help you?"

End Flashback:

"Draco," she said, ignoring Harry's pleading questions of 'what's wrong'. She said his name again, this time catching Ron's attention, her voice growing more urgent.

Snape and Draco turned at the commotion behind them, causing Hermione to let go of Harry's hand and sprint forward. She nearly took Draco down with the force of her embrace.

"I love you," she breathed, her arms tightening around his neck, as if he was trying to pry her off. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I'm sorry. I love you." She was sobbing by now, her face buried in his neck, her hair wild and in his face.

Draco, and the others, had little time to comprehend the situation, let alone react. A moment later and the Death Eaters voices were right on top of them, only just behind a hedge of bushes and a few yards beyond. Draco kissed Hermione roughly on the cheek, then grabbed her hand and pulled her down, crouching to get a better—and safer—view of the clearing. The other's followed suit, their eyes stuck to the scene before them, of themselves being sent back in time. They watched as the other Draco professed his denouncement of the Dark Lord and dark ways. And they watched the faces of the Death Eaters contort with rage and confusion, and when Voldemort appeared, he alone appeared unsurprised.

Insults were hurled. Cruel laughter tore at the tree tops. Then one final cry, and they vanished, leaving the center of the clearing empty, surrounded by a ring of softly chuckling Death Eaters.

"On my signal," Harry said, just as they had planned. True, they could have easily fled the area, making no contact with Voldemort at all, but not one of them even suggested it, the horrors of their would-be future preventing the thought of cowardice.

Harry raised his wand hand—the moment it fell they were to charge—and waited for the precise moment. His fingers twitched, nearly ready.

"Harry?" came an incredulous voice behind him.

The group stiffened, then turned slowly and found half a dozen Order of the Phoenix members standing behind them.

"Tonks!" Harry whispered. "Moody? Lupin? What—"

"No time to explain," she said, then narrowed her eyes at the sound of the Death Eaters in the clearing. "Come on," she continued, yanking Harry to his feet and securing her hand around his wrist. "Today's not the day, Harry. You're needed at Order headquarters."

He was about to protest, when he felt the all-too-familiar and nauseating squishing sensation as Tonks apparated him to headquarters. He blinked, his eyes readjusting to the dim light of the street outside Number 12 Grimmauld Place. She hurried him inside, along with the others, in a whirl of cloaks and confusion. Only after they were in the kitchen did he realize they were four short, having been rushed in so quickly.

"Where are—"

Ron looked around and opened his mouth to demand the same thing, but Moody laid a hand on his shoulder, silencing him.

"Remus brought Malfoy and Snape to a different location, for questioning."

"What?" Harry baulked. "Why? And where's Hermione?"

"They are a threat to the Order, Mr. Potter. As for Miss Granger…she refused to leave Malfoy's side."

"Tonks!" harry cried, running to her and grabbing her by the shoulders. "You have to listen to me. Draco and Snape are on our side! They—"

"Come now, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said, coming at it from the side. "Sit down, have some tea."

"I don't want any damn tea! I want you all to listen to me!"

"Yeah mum!" Ron agreed, crossing his arms over his chest and standing next to Harry.

"Very well," Mrs. Weasley said, her voice low and sad, yet still firm and motherly. She was angry, but she also knew when something was important, and this clearly was. "What's happened?"

It took over an hour to explain everything, and by the time they were finished, both Harry and Ron welcomed the tea and biscuits Mrs. Weasley kept shoving at them. Several of the Order members still loved suspicious, though most took their story for the truth and agreed to investigate Draco and Snape for themselves once they were brought back to headquarters after Lupin's own interrogation.

"Oh I can't believe it!" Mrs. Weasley suddenly cried out, then dove at Ron and Harry, smothering them in hugs and kisses. "I can't believe I almost never saw my children again!"

* * *

Hermione sneered at her favorite former-professor, her arms outstretched in front of Draco, her wand at the ready. Not that she would actually harm Lupin, but she sure as hell wasn't going to allow him to harm Draco while she was around. Snape, looking rather calm and annoyed, stood beside her and Draco, his arms crossed.

"Hermione, what are you doing?" Lupin asked, gesturing before him, though unable to step any closer. They were surrounded by a powerful and extremely volatile magical field, the purpose of which was for Lupin's protection during the interrogation. Anyone who touched it would immediately become paralyzed. "When we received word that you were being followed in the woods we dispatched immediately. I was instructed to bring any Death Eaters with me here, for questioning and possible arrest."

"No!" Hermione cried, looking at all who were witness as though she'd gone completely mad. "I have not gone to hell and back for you to take him away from me! Do you hear me? I love him and I will protect him with my life if need be!"

"Hermione!" Lupin gasped. "What are you talking about? I would _never_ use magic against you. As I said, I only came for Malfoy and Snape. Now what is going on?"

"As the girl seems to be…mentally incapacitated," Snape said, taking a delicate step forward, careful to avoid the barrier, "perhaps I should explain."

"You're under investigation, Severus," Lupin said harshly. "Your words are lies until proven otherwise."

"Is that how justice works these days?" he laughed. "Guilty until proven innocent?"

"Professor, please," Hermione begged. She took several more steps forward than Snape had, and nearly collided with the energy field, so determined was she to be heard and believed. She was merely inches from the edge of the field, when both Snape and Draco pulled her back, one grabbing each arm. This sight, their aid to her, was enough to make Lupin be silent and listen. "When I sent word to the Order that we were being followed, I was not lying. Harry, Ron, and I were being followed, and yes, Draco and Professor Snape were with the Death Eaters when we were ambushed."

"What are you talking about, Hermione?" Lupin interrupted. "There was no ambush. We arrived and rescued you three, and captured those two. Have…have you been…cursed?"

"No, Professor," she laughed, smiling like her old self for the first time since their arrival. "You see, Voldemort had a Time Turner…" Like Harry and Ron, in another part of the city, Hermione too was out of breath and thirsty when she was finished telling her story, their story. She asked Lupin to remove the field and, once he did, she ran at him, hugging him as if he had believed him dead and was only now aware it was not true. "I know it's crazy and unbelievable and…and utterly ridiculous," she said in his ear, "but I love Draco and I…well, I can _tolerate_ Snape. Now—" She stepped back, releasing him. "—can we please go to headquarters? I don't know about these two, but I'm starving!"

* * *

1 Year and 8 Months Later:

Hermione curled close to her fiancé on the sofa, her fingers laced with his, her other hand clutching a crystal goblet full of champagne. Before her stood Harry, goblet in one hand, champagne bottle in the other. And, all around her, was everyone she knew and loved, and everyone who was lucky enough to still be alive after the war.

Harry raised his glass and everyone followed suit.

"It's been a whole year since the end of the war," Harry said, grinning ear to ear. "And though so many innocents were lost, so many more lives will now have peace because of it. And—"

"Oh, come off it," Ron laughed, giving him a brotherly punch in the arm. "To Harry Potter!"

Cries of 'here, here!' and 'to Harry Potter' tore through the room, causing the reluctant hero to turn red and down the entire contents of his goblet.

Hours later, when Hermione and Draco lay in their bed, slightly tipsy off of too much champagne, she couldn't help but smile at the thought of how everything had turned out. She snuggled closer to him and sighed with satisfaction. Draco set the Evening Prophet on the bedside table on top of a stack of leftover wedding invitations and looked down at her, still in awe that she was his very own.

"I think we should stop sending owls to Snape," he said. "He obviously doesn't want to attend the wedding."

"I'm sure he has his reasons," she said, smiling and nothing more was said about it.

* * *

_"How could _you_ help me?" Snape snapped, almost accusingly. "You're only a girl."_

_"Oh come off your high horse, Professor. It was me who fixed the Time Turner, or don't you remember? Yes, I know you finished it, but without my skill and knowledge we would still be lost in time."_

_"Get to the point Miss Granger, you're wearing my patience thin."_

_"Very well," she said, wrinkling her nose at him. But then she softened suddenly and took his hands. "Professor, I can and I _will_ readjust the Time Turner once more and for good." He narrowed his eyes, questioning her silently. "After the war, after we've defeated Voldemort, I will send you back to her. I promise you."_

_"But the timeline—"_

_"Listen to me," she demanded. "It's just as Celeste said, one person playing with the bounds of time is not going to upset the entire universe. Time Turners were created for a reason, and I see this as good as any. All that's left is your acceptance."_

_Snape hesitated for a fraction of an instant, then nodded._

_"I scolded Draco for loving you," he said, looking into her eyes. "Now I see that I was wrong."_

_Hermione shrugged away from him and his compliment, leaving the room. _

In that moment she fell completely and irreversibly in love with Draco Malfoy, and though it took her days to realize, she will never forget it, or Snape, and what they meant to her.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

OMG! OMG! I finished the story! Hahahahaha! I hope it was worth the wait, the extremely long and seemingly never ending wait. I know, I'm terrible. But, to be honest, I thought this story was done for, in the toilet, down the drain, etc. I had come to a standstill and though I knew before what I wanted the ending to be, I somehow couldn't get there. That, I now realize, is because it was the wrong ending. This new ending, just now created, is what I believe fits best with the story. And I hope you all agree too!

**REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! **


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